The Enemy of My Enemy
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: A mission goes wrong and Jack becomes a Tok’ra.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Enemy of My Enemy  
Author: MissAnnThropic  
Spoilers: pre-Meridian/Ascended Daniel  
Summary: A mission goes wrong and Jack becomes a Tok'ra.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Stargate but my rabid fan behavior. Alas.

A/N: This is about the third time this particular chapter has been uploaded. There were some problems with certain symbols showing up, so if you read an earlier version that was faulty...sorry about that. Hopefully it won't happen again.  
  
Of all the senses to come back first, it had to be smell. Jack O'Neill clawed his way up from the clutches of unconsciousness to the smell of battle. The stench of burned flesh and dying fires singed his nose hairs, and memories of a hundred battles swirled in his mind so quickly that his only recourse was to lie still, immobile, as he tried desperately to sort out which battle this had been. The smell of burning bodies and trees were not enough to distinguish this battlefield as remarkable from a dozen others he'd stood on, so he had to find something besides the smell to tell him where he was.  
  
The second distinct sensation was pain. His chest, his throat... for a moment, he thought he had to be dying. When the seconds passed, crawled like eons, and he didn't slip back into darkness, he accepted that he wasn't going to die... not just yet. Even if he would live, it would be barely, because his pulse threaded weakly in his temples and neck, a tenaciously fighting beat, hollow in his sternum as it battled fatigue to keep him alive. His lungs labored to pull in the fire and smoke-tinged air. Whatever this battle zone was, however he had come here, someone had seriously screwed up, and if he lived he planned to raise all kinds of hell about this fubar operation.  
  
Jack heard a sound, a horrid croaking, and the tickling urge to cough made him realize it was he who'd made that pathetic noise. Coughing burned in his throat and sent clutching grips of pain throughout his chest, seizing at his battered body. His heart hammered, helpless and scared, as he worked a good minute to pry open his closed eyes.  
  
Light assailed him and he squinted. Tears blurred his vision as he forced himself to look again, this time focusing long enough to make out shapes. The tops of trees, the sky a deceptively peaceful shade of blue, the trails of curling smoke rising into the air.  
  
He listened for sounds of the enemy, for the sound of friends, but there was only the crackle of dying fires and the utter stillness that hung over the recently slain. Neither side had stuck around, so it stood to reason no one had really won. Everyone had bugged out, drawn back, and where he now lay was no man's land where neither side dared venture to retrieve their dead.  
  
'Is that what I am?' Jack thought, still unable to move, relegated to listening and smelling passively.  
  
Jack felt a surge of panic, a terror that swelled toward him from no discernible direction. For a dead guy he had good reflexes, because the unspecified fear that had suddenly loomed galvanized him to move. Curling up on his side his first instinct was to cross his arms over his chest, cradling the white hot pain. He looked down and realized why the smell of burnt flesh had been so strong, it was literally right under his nose. The front of his BDUs were missing, burned into ash, and his raw skin underneath exposed, a sore of red and black where pink flesh should have been. His hands were red with angry wounds, too, fingers curled like the severed chicken's feet he saw in grocery store meat sections but never even considered eating.  
  
Jack looked away from his body, afraid of what else he'd find if he continued his self-evaluation, and scanned the area where he lay. Bodies littered the ground, surrounded him. Jaffa, he recognized the clothing and large bodies. So they'd tangled with a Goa'uld and lost, but it still didn't tell him much.  
  
Jack blinked then his eyes locked on the lifeless shape nearest to him. A sprawled figure, burned to a blackened crisp over half its body, what survived of the clothing pompous, its left hand impotently laid on the ground, ribbon device untouched by fire.  
  
'Goa'uld,' Jack thought. Like a tidal wave fury roiled at him, consuming his thoughts. Jack felt the panic resurface in full force... the anger was not his for the Goa'uld, it was a foreign sensation, a source within his own mind that rose in fury at HIM.  
  
Flinching away, Jack struggled to his knees. The higher vantage point was not encouraging. He spotted a few bodies clad in green fatigues, fellow SGC members who'd died here. He couldn't stop anger of his own to see his people killed, grief and regret flickering through his thoughts. The dead were everywhere, canvassing the land, and he found himself sick to think he was the only one alive among corpses.  
  
'Why aren't I dead?' he thought, and again panic, sheer and unadulterated terror that demanded he pay attention to the threat, see the danger, rose and even though he searched, looked so hard, he saw only inert bodies.  
  
Jack stumbled to his feet. He swayed but managed to stand to his own amazement. His weapon was gone, as were his dog tags, their absence around his neck like the loss of a limb. If they took his tags they had to believe he was dead. 'I should be,' he looked again at his chest. Dried blood stained the edges of what remained of his clothing, 'I shouldn't have bled this much and lived. Whose sick joke is this, anyway?'  
  
The presence loomed again, pressed at him, and he couldn't stop the stab of horror it provoked within him. He spun to look for an attacker in the still field and fell to his knees when his head spun from the fast movement. His instincts screamed at him, knew something horrible he didn't, but he couldn't see what his senses did.  
  
A sense of crowding filled his thoughts, moving closer, and his stomach lurched. The gag reflex kicked in, as though he had something lodged in the back of his throat, and he vomited. He heaved and folded against the pain but no amount of throwing up rid him of the foreign object.  
  
Jack coughed, hugging his aching chest, and his thoughts whirled, 'What the hell is going on?'  
  
He heard the words like a whisper, a voice he knew came from nowhere but his own brain, –Stop resisting...–  
  
Jack jumped back, only to stumble and fall to the ground, heart racing and the panic response rushing through his every nerve. He was shaking, terrified because he was beginning to figure out what it was his body had known since waking, what malady had beset his broken form.  
  
'It's not true, it's not real,' he chanted in a desperate effort to convince himself.  
  
Again the sense of invasion, the utter lack of privacy within his own skull, –It is very real, Jack O'Neill.–  
  
Jack turned on his side, writhed, clenched his eyes closed and prayed desperately for a way to escape from his own skin. His hands searched in vain for his weapon, the overpowering thought of putting a bullet through his own head just to kill the thing that had crawled into his brain consuming him, driving him mad with the need to have it gone.  
  
'Get out of me! Get out, get out, get out!' he cried in his mind, sick at the thought of a snake in his head, enough to make him gag again, dry heaving in an attempt by any means to expel something that should not be in him.  
  
The presence grew, like a dark figure stepping from a heavy fog, and he panicked and cried within the confines of his skin... and aloud, he screamed.  
  
TBC


	2. Chapter 2

General George Hammond was furious. It had all gone wrong, and he'd lost people, damn good people. What galled him more than the Tok'ra's abject apologies for the botched mission, what made him fume and seethe like a mistreated circus lion, was that he might not be done losing people.  
  
General Hammond stood outside the infirmary, unable to tear himself away from waiting for word on his people, and decided it was just as well. If he did move, try to do anything other than remain glued on that gray door, he might just pummel one of the Tok'ra wandering the base, and Hammond was pretty damn sure the Tok'ra/Earth alliance wouldn't weather a good beating too well.  
  
"General Hammond?" a meek, tentative voice called out to the older man.  
  
"What?" Hammond snapped. He looked over at the airman who stood a few paces away making his stance as unimposing and subordinate as he could. It was flavored with the sadness and anger that everyone at the SGC was feeling today. Everyone had lost friends, some people as close as family.  
  
"President on the phone for you, sir."  
  
Hammond knew it was the one thing that could pull him away from his post outside the SGC infirmary. "Thank you, Sergeant. Stay here and if Doctor Fraiser comes out I want you to come get me immediately."  
  
"Yes, sir," the airman replied as he took up the stance of the immovable, not about to budge from that spot of vigil until there was a report from the good doctor or the general expressly asked him to move.  
  
A path was opened and cleared by every errant person on the base as Hammond strode through the halls to his office. When he reached his destination he found the red phone sitting in wait atop the table.  
  
"Mister President... Yes, sir... No, I'm afraid I have bad news; the joint Tok'ra/SGC mission to P78-294 to destroy the Goa'uld Montu was unsuccessful... Bad, sir. We lost all members of SG-13, two members of SG-9, one from SG-19 and 20, and Colonel O'Neill from SG-1... No sir, the remaining members of SG-1 are in critical condition. Teal'c is expected to survive, but there's no word yet on Doctor Jackson or Major Carter... I will, sir... Yes, Mister President."  
  
Hammond hung up the phone, nerves on edge. Only this morning SG-1 had been sitting in the briefing room with him, safe, unharmed, all of them alive.  
  
Hammond looked out his office window to the briefing room, barren now, oblivious to the disaster it had seen allowed to happen. Frowning, the general thought back to a mere matter of hours ago before this screwed up mission. He thought about the members of SG-1 and hoped the words they'd spoken then would not be the last memory of them he would have.  
  
_"Montu?" Daniel Jackson's eyes had widened, his eyebrows rising at the Tok'ra's words.  
  
"You know this Goa'uld, Doctor?" Hammond inquired.  
  
Daniel looked toward Hammond, fingers gesticulating as he answered, "No, but I know of the Egyptian myth of the Theban war-god Montu. He was supposedly a very powerful god."  
  
The Tok'ra nodded, "He is in fact a Goa'uld of great power, a far greater military tactician than most of the System Lords. He is unusual in that he makes use of advisors and counselors, a technique rare among the Goa'uld and the very trait that makes it difficult for the Tok'ra to launch any attacks against him."  
  
"How so?" Major Carter asked.  
  
The Tok'ra man looked toward her, "With the Goa'uld we possess certain constants that we use to our advantage in our fight against them. Their arrogance, their egos, and their paranoia of other individuals. Montu is rare in the sense that he accepts the advice of a select number of advisors. Montu's strength lies in the versatility and skill of his advisors. Tok'ra operatives have found it difficult to get close to Montu because his counselors are very vigilant of their lord, and predicting his actions is difficult because rather than try to anticipate one individual's behavior we must take into account the input of his staff of advisors and counselors, a much greater task, as you might imagine."  
  
Hammond frowned, "If he's so difficult to predict then why are you so certain will be on P78-294?"  
  
"One of our operatives has been working within Montu's ranks for twenty years, gaining his trust and earning a position on the advisory staff. He communicated to us Montu's plans to stage a deception against the Goa'uld Seshat."  
  
"The Egyptian goddess of writing?" Daniel queried.  
  
The Tok'ra nodded, "Seshat and Montu have been rivals for many hundreds of years. Their intense personal conflict has been the reason that neither Goa'uld has become a larger concern for the galaxy... they have been at war with one another to the exclusion of nearly all else."  
  
"Kinda like the McCoys and the Hatfields," Colonel O'Neill offered.  
  
The Tok'ra gave Jack a blank look before turning his attention back to Hammond, "Recently there have been indications that Montu might be receptive to an alliance with some of the lesser Goa'uld lords. If this is permitted to happen he will undoubtedly succeed in finally defeating Seshat, and once she has been destroyed Montu will easily absorb the forces of the weaker Goa'uld he aligned with.."  
  
"At which point he turns into everyone's problem," Jack finished.  
  
The Tok'ra nodded. "Montu possesses great military skill and if that intelligence is turned against the enemies of the Goa'uld many will die."  
  
"And what is this deception you are so certain Montu is about to pull?" Hammond asked.  
  
"Our operative has communicated Montu's intention to send a large portion of his fleet to the distant border of Seshat's territory to draw the Goa'uld away from one of three primary planets within her territory where she mines naquadah. Montu intends to strike this planet and cripple Seshat's production of weaponry in preparation for the joint strike against her. While awaiting Seshat's pursuit of the decoy fleet, Montu and his closest confidants will be hiding on this world, the one you call P78-294. He will be sparsely accompanied and will not expect an attack. It is our best chance to strike against him."  
  
Major Carter chimed in, "And why exactly have you come to us?"  
  
The Tok'ra looked evenly at Sam. "The Tau'ri are more familiar with the kind of attack force that will be required for this operation to succeed. The Tok'ra operate by deception and subterfuge; a frontal assault of this manner is not a tactic at which we are skilled. There is also the matter that Montu's military predispositions means that you of the Tau'ri army are perhaps more equipped to anticipate his mind-set and actions than the Tok'ra. Also, the Tok'ra at the time do not have the numbers available to make up a formidable strike force such as this. In many ways your expertise and skill would be critical."  
  
Jack glowered, "You know, I get a really bad feeling every time the Tok'ra start complimenting us."  
  
Hammond turned to his second in command, "Colonel? What are your thoughts on this matter?"  
  
Jack O'Neill eyed the Tok'ra at the end of the table dubiously, looked at each member of his team, then shrugged, "It reeks, General, but it doesn't seem we have much choice, the last thing we need is a Goa'uld military tyrant loose."  
  
Hammond nodded, "I would have to agree. You and SG teams 9, 13, 19, and 20 will accompany the Tok'ra on this mission to P78-294."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
_"General Hammond?"  
  
Hammond was pulled from his thoughts as he looked toward the door to his office. Captain Rawlins of SG-9 was standing just barely in the office, her hands clasped together and face down-turned somberly. The pallor to her skin and sunken despondence in her eyes were signs that George Hammond had seen too many times before on the faces of good people throughout his years of service. Rawlins had lost her commanding officer and the team's second in command; Rawlins herself was the only member of her team to return relatively unharmed, the fourth of SG-9 coming back with a broken leg and internal bleeding. When Hammond got around to calling Doctor MacKenzie, Rawlins was his first concern; sometimes it was harder to be one of the few that survived than one of the ones who died.  
  
"Come in, Captain," he said gently.  
  
Rawlins moved to one of the chairs opposite Hammond's desk and sat down without a sound, instead staring vacantly at the items on his desk for a moment. She was still in shock, sighted wandering the base with a bewildered look on her face. Hammond had more urgent business to attend to so he allowed her to move through the halls of the SGC as she saw fit. He merely informed all the checkpoints to the surface not to let her leave the mountain. Rawlins was a trained soldier, a good officer, and was already starting to recover her self-control. Everyone on base would know she'd lost half her teammates, and wherever on base she might think to go she'd be watched after. During the worst tragedies Hammond found his pride in his people stronger than at any other time.  
  
"I know this is a difficult time for you. If there's anything I can do..," Hammond offered.  
  
Rawlins nodded, her military poise slowly but surely returning to her. "Yes, sir. I came to ask if we'd be returning to P78-294 to retrieve... the bodies."  
  
Hammond felt himself recoil at the thought of his people lying sprawled and unattended on a planet millions of miles from home, bodies left to rot like vermin carcasses on a lonely highway. "I would like to see them brought home as much as you, Captain, but at the moment retrieval is not a viable option. The Goa'uld we went there to kill is still on the planet and if the Tok'ra," he tried not to spit the word, "intelligence is right he's planning on being there for at least two and a half more weeks. I couldn't even consider a mission back to P78-294 until we were assured Montu is gone. I'm not willing to risk any more people."  
  
Rawlins went pale, lips pressed tightly, but she nodded and said in a flat voice, "Yes, sir." Hammond frowned because he could tell she knew what that time frame meant. Nearly three weeks... by the time they did return there wouldn't be much left to retrieve, much less anything they would recognize as their lost friends. At a point it would be harder to find them than leave them where they were killed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Captain."  
  
Rawlins nodded again, eyes trained on the carpet at her feet, then she slowly stood, "Thank you, General," then pausing, her hand dipped uncertainly into her pocket. When it withdrew Hammond recognized the very familiar jingle of standard issue dog tags. Without a word Rawlins stepped closer to the general's desk, reached out, and set the silver chain and tags on the desk top. Turning and exiting his office, she left Hammond to reach out and pick up the dog tags that were coiled and twisted in wait before him. They were stained, the chain and slips of metal both, with rust-colored dried blood and flakes of burned skin that chipped under Hammond's touch and fell to the paper atop his desk.  
  
Hammond brushed his thumb over the tag to clear the name, expecting one of Rawlins's lost teammates. He swallowed his anger and his sadness.  
  
'O'Neill, Jonathan USAF'.  
  
Hammond curled the broken chain around his hand and pressed the tags into his palm as he cursed all snakes, Goa'uld and Tok'ra alike, for this day.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack wasn't sure at first if he was awake or asleep. Even as he opened his eyes to find himself lying on his side, face pressed to the gravel-ridden ground, he had doubts. Half memories whirled in his mind, disorienting him as he fought for clarity. He didn't remember ending up where he now lay, he didn't remember the dark of night shrouding him.  
  
Jack blinked once and began to frown. Pain... he did remember pain, pain and terror.  
  
Moving slowly, fearing the sharp reproach of wounds, Jack shifted only to find a numbness had settled over his body. It felt like he'd just been to the dentist, groggy and doped up from the novacaine gas. Movement felt sluggish and labored as he lifted his hand to his chest. He carefully touched the exposed skin. He could feel the tackiness of dried blood and the rough contours of ugly scarring but there was no biting pain under his fingers.  
  
Jack slowly rolled on to his back and found himself staring up at alien stars. The hours he'd been unconscious had allowed time for the wind to clear the stagnant smell of death and combat, the night air almost sweet with the aroma of extraterrestrial flora. Jack took a deep breath. The chill air rushed into his lungs, invigorating after the suffocating stifle of smoke-laden air and a heavy chest wound.  
  
'How long have I been lying here if I had time to heal?' he wondered. He tapped experimentally at his chest again, still failing to elicit any burning sensation of pain.  
  
The first licks of panic started to lap at his consciousness and in a flood of recollection he remembered the sickening truth, the reason he'd blacked out.  
  
'Oh god... NO,' he scrambled to his feet. Rocks and dried grass crunched underfoot, the only sound in the alien night. Jack felt his breaths start to gasp as his body flew into a horrified fight or flight response, bypassing cognitive input completely.  
  
–I am here, Colonel O'Neill, I have been healing you. Please, do not panic again, it causes you to injure yourself further and weakens my ability to repair you.–  
  
Staggering backward to no avail, Jack reflexively rubbed his hands against his head as one would if they were trying to knock free a bug entangled in their hair.  
  
'Get out of me! Fucking snake! Get the HELL out of my head!' Jack heard his own thoughts rebut to the alien presence. His autonomic responses were racing again, heart and lungs seizing in terror, nervous system recoiling and demanding the thing in his body be purged, that the intruder be vanquished from his physical form. He felt himself feeling sick to his stomach again, the rising necessity to puke crawling up his esophagus.  
  
The presence in his mind shifted, attention changed, and then a sensation like drinking warm chicken broth suffused his roiling stomach, and as it did it soothed and settled the impulse to vomit before it had climaxed into more dry heaves.  
  
Spared that discomfort, some of the hammering fear drummed out by Jack's flailing heart eased. He had presence of mind enough to note that, while he was taken by a Goa'uld, he had control of his limbs, that his actions were at his behest.  
  
–I am not a Goa'uld,– the presence in his mind chided almost sourly. –I am a Tok'ra.–  
  
Jack shuddered in disgust all the same. He coughed in one more bodily ridding attempt and examined his surroundings. He was no longer in the battlefield, instead on a road between two patches of forest that bent into blackness to either side. He couldn't imagine who might have carried him here... the last look around he had turned up only dead bodies.  
  
–I brought us here,– the Tok'ra in his mind answered his silent musings.  
  
'Bull shit! You're a ten-inch snake, you telling me your scaly ass dragged me?'  
  
Perturbation washed over him, caused O'Neill to rub in an irritated fashion at his eye socket with the heel of one hand, then the symbiote replied, –Very well, then, I had you bring us here.–  
  
'You used my body, you god damned snake! Goa'uld bastard!'  
  
Jack was suddenly on his knees, paralyzed, cringing at the venomous anger directed at him from the ever-present being circulating in his thoughts. –I am not a Goa'uld, Colonel O'Neill. As you have noted yourself you are still in control of your body, your thoughts. Were I a Goa'uld you would be as a prisoner within your own body.–  
  
Gently, as one might release a butterfly from cupped hands, Jack felt the restraint on his limbs lift and control calmly returned to him. Jack jumped to his feet once again, just to be certain he was able. 'Fine, then, a damned Tok'ra, but pardon my obtuseness for not seeing a hell of a lot of difference.'  
  
A probing silence ensued, eventually broken by, –I understand that you consider us very similar, but we are not.–  
  
"I thought one of your golden rules was not to take an unwilling host," Jack spat.  
  
–Don't speak aloud,– the Tok'ra admonished, –Montu's Jaffa may be nearby. And no, we don't take unwilling hosts.–  
  
Jack reminded himself consciously not to verbalize his part of the conversation, 'Yeah, well, I can assure you that I wouldn't have agreed to this!'  
  
A sadness not his own, a desperation of a different flavor, flashed unbidden in Jack's thoughts, then a soft reply, –This is so, Colonel O'Neill, and for my actions I can only ask forgiveness, but there was no other choice. My host was dying... I could not heal him... and you were near death, but your injuries, with effort, I knew I could repair. I have saved your life to save mine, so you see, for now, we owe each other.–  
  
Jack grasped at his hair, unable to shake the sensation of crawling beneath his skull, and his thinking fell into a cacophony of disjointed thoughts, 'God, it's crawling, slithering in my brain... slimy, repulsive... get it out, I can't take this, rather die than be a snake... better off dead than this...'  
  
His racing thoughts that seemed to be sending him spiraling toward madness were quite suddenly muffled, a deafening heaviness blanketing and buffering the ricocheting thoughts, and in its wake a hollow kind of peace engulfed him.  
  
'Was that you?'  
  
–Yes. Your erratic thinking was distressing to me.–  
  
Jack took in a deep breath, startled at the sense of collection and control he could still maintain even having a snake in his brain. The sounds of the night were suddenly quite vivid in his ears, his eyesight sharper than he remembered his night-vision being.  
  
–They are a symbiote's gifts to the host,– the Tok'ra responded to his sudden interest in his newly heightened senses.  
  
'What happened to my people? Do you know?'  
  
The Tok'ra backed away from his thoughts, in doing so allowed a few of the racing notions he'd restrained to freely bounce again, but they were unable to completely distract Jack from the one answer he really cared to hear.  
  
–Your people and mine abandoned the fight... Montu's forces surprised even me, I did not know he had so many Jaffa hidden away here. I am to blame for that, the disaster that befell both our peoples here today is my fault. Your people left through the Chappa'ai. They believed all those left behind were dead... they did not abandon you.–  
  
Jack flared at the last, return remark indignant, 'You don't have to tell me something I know perfectly well, pal. Unlike you Tok'ra, we don't leave our people behind.'  
  
The Tok'ra was quiet a time, perhaps chastised or maybe pensive, Jack wasn't sure which, before the voice surfaced again, –I apologize. I assumed you would need to be reassured you were not left behind, for when I blended with you you were quite near death, but you know your people better than I. Of course, the Tau'ri never leave their own behind.–  
  
Jack felt inane comfort in having that fact acknowledged. 'Did you see my team? Sam, Daniel, Teal'c... do you know if they made it out all right?'  
  
There was a strange pause, like an appraising silence, then the Tok'ra's response, –I did not see if they fled under their own power or had to be carried, but their faces are not among those that lay upon the battleground. In any case, they are not here, perhaps they live.–  
  
'Damn well better live,' Jack thought to himself, not prepared to imagine his team dying on him. Still, he was put at some measure of ease to think his friends were safe and on Earth. It was top on his list of priorities, so if they were home then he could risk handling his own problems without worrying about the rest of his team, and did he ever have a problem to sort through.  
  
'So, what now? I hope you didn't make any permanent plans to stay in my head, because my insurance policy doesn't cover this.'  
  
The Tok'ra apparently made an effort to comprehend that flippant remark before giving up and replying, –Now there is a task we must complete, you and I.–  
  
Canting his head, Jack dug into his ear with one finger like he was trying to dislodge trapped water. 'Yeah, and what would that be?'  
  
–To destroy the Goa'uld Montu.–


	4. Chapter 4

Doctor Janet Fraiser had not slept in over thirty-six hours. She'd passed the point where coffee did her any good... she was now operating on will-power alone. She had only just managed to wash the last of the blood from her hands and discarded the clothes stained beyond hope. She would have to sleep soon but before she could rest she had to check in on her patients one more time. Nurses trolled the darkened infirmary with her. They watched her closely for any orders then slunk off to other bedsides, each patient checked on ten times over.  
  
Janet found herself at Sam Carter's bedside as she looked at the young woman's deathly still form. The bandage on the major's thigh was beginning to soak through, the first spotting of bright red blood dotting the thick wrappings, but the bleeding was at last beginning to slow. The next time they changed her dressings the bandages could probably stay on much longer. Shrapnel damage. From reports of the conscious SGC team members that had come through, a staff blast had exploded a boulder near Sam and heated chunks of rock had ripped into her skin. It had been a tedious process in surgery to pick out all the slivers of stone. When the major did not wake up from anesthesia Janet had been concerned. She might have lapsed into a coma, but Doctor Fraiser wasn't ready to make that drastic a prognosis just yet.  
  
Janet examined the bags of saline solution and antibiotic drips fed through tubes into Sam's arms, at last pulled out her penlight and leaned over the sleeping woman. She pried back one of Sam's eyelids and flashed the light at the major's pupil, watching the sharp contraction. Sam flinched and turned her head away from the bright light, groaning in malcontent.  
  
"Sam?" Janet sat on the edge of the bed with her hand resting on her friend's shoulder.  
  
"Ja'et?" she slurred.  
  
"I'm here. You're in the infirmary. You took some damage to your right leg and we had to take you into surgery. You might feel a little nauseous from the anesthesia but you're going to be fine."  
  
Sam rolled her head back to look at Janet, expression murky and confused. "What about the others?"  
  
Janet rested her hands in her lap, "Teal'c was wounded in the arm by a staff blast but thanks to his symbiote he's making a rapid recovery. Daniel..." Janet stopped.  
  
Sam forced herself to focus, "Daniel what?"  
  
Janet sighed, "He's not doing so well. He was seriously injured, and he's not out of the woods yet. We have him in one of the isolation rooms right now under close observation."  
  
"What happened?" Sam queried groggily.  
  
"He was crushed by a significant weight of rocks... the boulder blast that wounded you caused a cliff to collapse... Daniel happened to get caught beneath. He broke four ribs on his right side and his lung collapsed. We have a chest tube in right now to reinflate his lung, and he's on a ventilator because he was having trouble breathing on his own. What has me concerned is the skull fracture and concussion. He has some brain swelling that we're watching very closely. Sam, do you remember what happened?"  
  
Sam screwed her eyes shut, then she grimaced, "Goa'uld, um... mission went to hell."  
  
Janet nodded. Reaching out, she patted Sam's shoulder, "I think your memory's fine. I am so sorry, Sam."  
  
Sam swallowed thickly and forced open her eyes to ask, "The colonel?"  
  
Janet looked down at her lap, "He's... he didn't make it."  
  
"What?" Sam croaked thinly, face twisting.  
  
Janet closed her hand around Sam's forearm and squeezed lightly, "He died, Sam."  
  
Sam stared in disbelief at Janet for a moment, as though waiting for the doctor to admit she was mistaken, and when no such confession was forthcoming Sam turned her gaze up to the ceiling. Water swam in her eyes but she would not break down in tears, always trying to be the strong military officer.  
  
Janet squeezed Sam's arm one more time and carefully stood. She left her friend so the newly conscious major could absorb all the information and give her a chance to silently cry alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack O'Neill awoke to an unending panic just beneath the surface of his thoughts. His body was aware it was under siege, possessed, and at every unguarded moment it made him afraid for his sanity, his individuality, his autonomy. This time, though, he didn't at once try to run, try to throw up the foreign presence. He let his heart skip and cry bloody murder, let himself nearly hyperventilate in fright, but managed with great effort to hold his body still so that he rose from sleep afraid but outwardly doing quite well to look like he was in control.  
  
–But I feel your fear, Colonel O'Neill, I am in here, not out there.–  
  
Jack felt a cold chill run up his spine to hear the symbiote's ghostly words in his mind. He clenched his eyes shut futilely. He didn't give the Tok'ra the courtesy of a direct response, just let it patter around with the incomplete, rude thoughts that were flickering in his brain.  
  
Jack opened his eyes again and proceeded to look around the small cave where the Tok'ra had directed him the night before. It was sparsely furnished but had enough of what was necessary. There was a small pallet on the floor to sleep on, stores of water and even some half-way decent food to eat. Jack had eaten without any prodding but when it came time for rest Jack had balked. He was in enemy territory, he shouldn't take the luxury of sleep.  
  
–I can hear and see while you are sleeping, Colonel O'Neill, you will be safe to rest, and if you are sleeping I can heal you more quickly,– the Tok'ra had intoned. Eventually Jack had crawled into the bedroll for a few hours sleep, not because he trusted the snake in his head but merely because he had a snake in his head he figured things couldn't get much worse. If a Jaffa patrol snuck up on him in the middle of the night and decided to roast him for dinner it would be one way to solve the snake in his brain problem.  
  
Jack was almost surprised to wake up, having fully expected to meet his end while he let his guard down during the night.  
  
–I am sorry that you are disappointed to still live,– the Tok'ra chimed in with a stirring of bitterness.  
  
'My, aren't you pissy in the morning,' he snarled back, then pushed the bed pallet cover off him and slowly sat up. He stopped at once and looked down at his chest. The numbness that had before replaced the fiery pain was gone now as well, and upon inspection of his bare torso he could see unbroken, unmarred skin. The only sign he might have been seriously injured was a bright red discoloration, like a bad sunburn where he used to be charred. He touched it in fascination, amazed to think that yesterday he'd been near death and today he could hardly tell he hadn't just fallen asleep on the beach.  
  
–You're welcome,– the Tok'ra replied, his tone more amused and patient than annoyed or put off.  
  
Frowning, Jack kicked away the rest of the blanket and looked around the cave with the benefit of dawn's light coming through the entrance to light the previously shadowed corners. It was smaller than it had appeared in the dark, little more than an alcove carved into the stone face of the mountainside.  
  
–We have much to do,– the Tok'ra pressed to Jack's wandering thoughts.  
  
Jack, bristling at what nearly sounded like an order, snapped, 'What makes you think I'm going to help you kill this Montu guy, anyway?'  
  
The Tok'ra was furious, Jack could feel it. Not at Jack or even at his obstinate behavior but absolutely loathsome at the very mention of Montu. Jack shifted closer to one of the walls of the cave to press the cool stone against his back as the snake damn near rattled his hatred within the confines of Jack's cranium.  
  
–Montu must die.–  
  
Jack scratched at his temple and glowered at the internal monologue, 'Look, I'm all for killing the Goa'uld, but don't drag me into your personal vendetta. I expect to go home and for you to find someone else to jump into. End of story, thank you for your business, don't call us, we'll call you, period.'  
  
There was no answer from the Tok'ra. The snake remained quiet, like a stalking predator lying in wait, then a brusque, –How do you intend to get home, Colonel O'Neill? I know of the Tau'ri defenses... you cannot merely dial your planet and step through the Chappa'ai, you would be killed by the... the 'iris'. Your device to transmit the code was either taken from your body when your people thought you dead or destroyed in the battle. How have you chosen to overcome this detail?–  
  
Jack clenched his jaw, bitter at the thought, 'I haven't figured that part out yet, but confidence is high.'  
  
Jack was creeped out to feel like something inside his head was smiling at him.  
  
–Colonel O'Neill... I have a proposition for you.–  
  
'Dealing snakes, there has to be some warning from a biblical text about this.'  
  
The Tok'ra continued undeterred, –I know the current location of the Tok'ra base. Help me kill Montu and I will take us there; I can acquire a new host, and you may return home using the iris code transmitter your people provided to the Tok'ra council.–  
  
Jack thought for a long moment. He took his time and made the snake wait, just to see how patient it could be, making a fair go at annoying the symbiote. The snake was unfortunately right, Jack was as good as stranded on this planet because his GDO transmitter was gone; he wasn't particularly interested in the idea of becoming radiation particles on the backside of the iris.  
  
'What if I refuse?'  
  
–Then we shall remain here for a very long time as one.–  
  
Jack cringed at the idea... trapped on a planet with only a snake in his head for company. He was starting to feel manipulated and he didn't like it one bit, his ire began rising on principle.  
  
–Do not think I wish to do this,– the Tok'ra said calmly, –it is not my desire to force your cooperation, but I have dedicated forty years of my life and the life of my previous host to the destruction of this Goa'uld. You cannot underestimate my wish to see him pay for the crimes he has committed. This is the best chance the Tok'ra have had yet to strike directly against Montu, despite the blunder yesterday that cost so many lives. I will do anything to see him fall.–  
  
'Anything including taking over my body like I was just a tool to you? Sounds Goa'uldish to me, snakey.'  
  
The Tok'ra was hurt by that, and Jack was startled to learn they could have their feelings hurt. –If I were willing to stoop to those measures I would not be negotiating with you, Colonel O'Neill. I won't use you like the Goa'uld would, even if it means Montu escapes and slaughters hundreds of thousands of people. I will, however, never forget your allowing it to happen.–  
  
Jack rubbed at his forehead; he was starting to feel decidedly schizophrenic.  
  
–I am asking for your help, Colonel O'Neill. Please. Tell me you do not also desire revenge for your companions who have died at Montu's hands.–  
  
Jack thought of the human bodies on that field, SGC personnel, and his anger boiled over.  
  
'All right, you have a deal. I help you get this guy, you get me back to Earth sans the extra personality.'  
  
The Tok'ra's relief bled over into Jack's consciousness as the symbiote answered, –I give you my oath. Now... we don't have much time, and there are some things that must be done.–  
  
Jack got to his feet, forced to remain bent at an awkward angle to avoid the low ceiling, 'All right, tell me what you want me to do.'

* * *

Jack found himself back on the battlefield where yesterday he'd lain dying. It was untouched from last he saw it, the bodies still scattered in haphazard disarray, the air still thick with the smell of death. Jack looked over the scene, trying to remain detached. It was not the first battlefield he had seen, not even the first span of corpses he'd seen, and there were times he'd looked upon the bodies of people much closer to him than those that now represented the force of the SGC.  
  
Jack blinked. In his mind he saw another field, one he didn't recognize and yet knew down to the smallest detail. There were Tok'ra slain, dead by the dozens on the shores of a lake. The water lapped at their bodies, it carried wisps of blood out with the tide, and there was a maelstrom of grief, sadness, rage.  
  
Stepping back, Jack shook his head to clear his vision and once again looked at the battle zone HE knew, the one that he recognized from yesterday.  
  
"What the..?" he began to question.  
  
The Tok'ra came back, apologetic, –I am sorry, Colonel O'Neill, my mind wandered.–  
  
'That's what happens when your mind wanders? Well, do me a favor and keep your eye on the ball, huh?'  
  
–I could ask you to do the same.–  
  
'Excuse me?'  
  
The Tok'ra was silent for a moment before answering carefully, –Your thoughts have wandered many times since I joined with you... you are more assassin than the Tok'ra believe.–  
  
Jack tensed, 'Stay out of my memories and I'll stay out of yours, okay?'  
  
The Tok'ra did not respond to Jack's spurious remark, instead urged, –My former host is to the left.–  
  
Jack mentally narrowed his gaze at the Tok'ra then started across the field toward the burned body that yesterday he had mistaken for a Goa'uld. Half-way there his eye caught a flash of olive drab and he stopped. He found himself looking down at the motionless form of Lieutenant Colonel Thomas of SG-9. Jack knelt beside the body as he loked down at the lifeless, cold stare in the lieutenant colonel's green eyes. There was cool detachment from the event, a disconnection from the reality of this body once having been a person. He'd seen too many die to feel the crush of another's mortality, beyond being crippled, desensitized to its effects... besides, Thomas was not someone he'd known well. He was a good soldier, but not a friend. He shouldn't have died, certainly not like this, but better him than Sam, Daniel, or Teal'c.  
  
Jack stood back and continued toward the Goa'uld body, stopping when he reached the burned black form. It was another enemy shape to him, but from the creature in his mind a great sadness raked through his consciousness, making Jack mourn by association the person at his feet that he did not know.  
  
Jack frowned in annoyance, uncomfortable with the emotions saturating his brain, put there by an unwelcome guest. He almost waited for some remark from the snake since it seemed the symbiote couldn't manage to leave Jack alone for more than ten minutes, but instead echoing silence descended.  
  
Jack bent down and removed the ribbon device from the corpse's hand. He tucked one finger of the contraption into his belt so it hung at his side. Standing back he waited for something from the snake, some direction, but still there was only sad silence, so Jack turned his face up toward the sun in an attempt to gauge the time of day.  
  
'Hey... Tok'ra,' he finally relented to calling for the symbiote's attention.  
  
–Yes, O'Neill?–  
  
Jack was taken aback by the somberness in the Tok'ra's voice, the melancholy in the emotions Jack could feel from him. Unintentionally, an image of Major Carter popped into the colonel's mind. She was at the table in her lab, bent over something Jack could never in a million years hope to understand, taking the time to look up at him and laugh at one of his stupid jokes. He felt the same stomach flutter of self-satisfaction and pleasure that Sam's rare, sincere smiles could give him, and like a counter-agent it pushed away the sadness coming from the snake.  
  
The Tok'ra at last spoke, his voice not as despondent, –You must trust in our arrangement for what must come next, Colonel O'Neill. I have to convince Montu that I am still his loyal advisor, that I have survived the battle by taking a new host and returned to continue my service to him. It is the only way we can be close enough to him to kill him.–  
  
Jack sighed, 'Well, this is your area, so whatever you say.'  
  
The Tok'ra hesitated, –For this deception to work I must take control, you do understand that.–  
  
Jack cringed, 'Look, I just want to go home. If I've got to take a backseat to my own body then fine, but I'm telling you right now I'm not going to like it, so don't expect me to be in a good mood about it.'  
  
–Never,– the Tok'ra replied, and Jack grew wary with the suspicion that the snake was laughing to himself.  
  
Jack groaned to himself in surrender, 'So lead on, do your take over thing, let's get this over with.'  
  
The Tok'ra's presence loomed, grew in his mind, but just as the panic reflex started to stir in Jack again that would evoke the feeling that he needed to flee from himself, the Tok'ra seemed to back away, becoming less dominating, –We have a distance yet to go before we reach Montu's hide-out, you may retain control until we are closer.–  
  
'How generous of you,' Jack grumbled and started off toward the distant Goa'uld hide-away, a destination he just found in his mind when he chanced to look for it. He was hoping for silence from the snake, a little peace and quiet (which the symbiote seemed more than willing to provide) but not even two minutes into their hike Jack found himself asking, 'Who are you?'  
  
The Tok'ra seemed a little surprised at the question, –My name is Aetom.–  
  
'Well, Aetom, what was up with that thing back there? Why the hell was I SAD about that dead Tok'ra? I didn't even know the guy.'  
  
Aetom hesitated before answering, –You were experiencing my grief for my former host. I'm sorry if it upset you. I am trying to shield myself from your thoughts because I know you do not like me here, but it is a demanding effort and some things get through.–  
  
Jack wanted to be angry about that because it had been disconcerting, but Aetom's honesty made it hard to stay mad. Instead he settled on irritated, put upon by an uninvited visitor in his own body.  
  
–Although I thank you for Major Carter.–  
  
Jack's step faltered, 'What?!'  
  
Aetom explained, –In my despair you showed me something that gives you happiness... it helped. Thank you.–  
  
Jack was nearly aghast, 'That wasn't for you! I was just, well I had to do something to get rid of that bad mood you'd given me.'  
  
Aetom urged Jack to keep walking while he answered, –Perhaps you did not realize what you were doing would comfort me. Even so, it... made me feel better.–  
  
'Yeah, well, just don't start expecting it on regular basis.'  
  
–Are the Tok'ra really so distasteful to you? Our two peoples have been allies for some time now, and it has been a beneficial relationship for both parties.–  
  
'Look, this isn't the time for a philosophical debate. We're here to kill this Goa'uld so I can get you out of my head and go home. Let's just stick to that, keep it nice and simple.'  
  
–If that is what you wish, Colonel O'Neill,– and Aetom's voice went silent as he seemingly backed away, as though going into some form of hibernation, which left Jack to trudge over an alien planet's surface with only his own thoughts for company. Considering his traveling companion as of yesterday, it was a solitude that he was going to take advantage of while he had the chance.


	6. Chapter 6

"How is he, Doctor?"  
  
Janet Fraiser turned to the gentle timber of General Hammond's voice as he stepped quietly into the darkened observation room overlooking Daniel Jackson. Right now, technically, it was overlooking Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter. Janet had tried to argue with Sam at first, insisting she wasn't well enough to be sitting with Daniel, but in the end the doctor had relented. It frightened her, actually, how that acquiescence had come about. Sam had barely been able to sit up on her own when she asked to go to Daniel and when Janet persisted in denying her request Sam just went quiet, sullen. She gave up, which was so unlike Sam Carter to do, so much so that it scared Janet. She felt like the only thing she could do was allow Sam to see Daniel; in hindsight she berated herself for trying to refuse the request in the first place. Sam had just lost her good friend, her commanding officer; she NEEDED to see Daniel, to hear him breathe and watch him sleep. She had to know she'd not lost him, too. That first relent became Sam's constant vigil at the archaeologist's side, and against her better judgment Janet allowed it.  
  
Janet watched the general emerge from the shadows to look down at the two in the isolation room. Sam was propped in a chair on Daniel's left side, thankfully his left because the major had fallen asleep with her head half-resting on Daniel's stomach, her arms folded possessively if unconsciously around Daniel's left arm. She didn't want to lose him too, so in sleep she held him. If the young linguist so much as stirred Sam would know.  
  
Janet crossed her arms, "Little change, sir."  
  
Hammond frowned, "It's been five days, Doctor... shouldn't we be seeing some improvement?"  
  
Janet frowned, her soul heavy, "Yes, sir. I would have hoped he'd have at least waken up by now. General... we might have to consider the possibility that this coma could continue indefinitely." Shaking her head, Janet mused to herself, 'to think, it was Sam I had been worried about slipping into a coma and then it happens to Daniel'.  
  
Hammond sagged. His eyes dropped then rose again to look at his two friends, sleeping the unfit rest of the wounded in the gray room. "Is there any chance the Tok'ra could help him, they have that healing device.."  
  
Janet took a breath and held it, finally shaking her head, "I've thought of that, sir, and to be honest I've even discussed it with one of the Tok'ra last time we were in communication with them, but the fact is that while the healing device is great at healing body wounds it's next to useless for neurological problems. The brain is just too complicated to fix with a wave of anyone's hand."  
  
Hammond tapped his knuckles anxiously against the monitor table as he asked in a softer voice, "What about Major Carter? How is she holding up?"  
  
"Her wounds are healing nicely. With any luck she'll be able to walk around with a little assistance by the end of the week."  
  
Hammond looked directly at her, "You know I don't mean her leg, Doctor."  
  
Janet momentarily closed her eyes, "She's as well as can be expected, sir. She acts well... if Daniel doesn't pull through.." Janet stopped; she refused to let her mind walk that path.  
  
Hammond softly touched her shoulder, effectively pulling Janet's attention back to him. "Doctor Jackson is going to make it, Doctor Fraiser, believe that."  
  
Janet gave a wane smile, "I thought I was the medical expert here."  
  
Hammond smirked then dropped his hand and looked back at the two members of SG-1. "Teal'c's been requesting permission to leave the SGC, some cock-eyed notion of joining the Tok'ra's efforts against Montu. I'm afraid he's taking Colonel O'Neill's death personally."  
  
"Aren't we all?" Janet asked rather sharply.  
  
Hammond didn't deny that, only continued, "He's got some warrior concept of revenge, and I'm not here to dictate his cultural ethics, but I don't want to see him run off trying to make some Goa'uld pay for what happened on that planet. I want to see Montu dead as much as the next person, but I don't want to lose more people needlessly to do it."  
  
"All due respect, sir.." Janet began, but got nothing more out before Sam's voice suddenly called out, "Janet!"  
  
Doctor Fraiser and General Hammond both looked toward the isolation room. Sam was sitting on the edge of her seat, right leg, bandaged and stiff, stuck out to the side as she leaned toward the bed, her hands clutched around Daniel's as she peered closely at his face. She looked up toward the observation room at Janet and Hammond, face sleep-mused but alert, "I think he's waking up!"  
  
Janet was out the door faster than Hammond had ever seen a woman in heels move.  
  
Janet hurried into the room, at once at Daniel's right side while Sam had struggled out of her chair to stand over her friend, one hand still holding his while the other smoothed over his forehead. "Daniel? It's Sam... can you hear me?" Daniel's face remained still.  
  
Sam looked up at the doctor, "I swear, Janet, I saw him move."  
  
Janet's soaring hope started to diminish, "It's not unusual for coma patients to make small movements, like a person in their sleep... it doesn't mean they're coming out of it."  
  
Sam absolutely glowered at Janet and shook her head, looking again at Daniel as her fingers stroked through his hair, "Daniel... Daniel, listen to me... if you can hear me squeeze my hand." Both women looked desperately at Daniel's limp hand cradled in Sam's. Nothing. Just when Janet was about to look away there was purposeful movement, Daniel's fingers curling around Sam's, squeezing tightly.  
  
Sam challenged, "Do coma patients do THAT?"  
  
Janet leaned toward Daniel, "No, they don't," and pulled up one of his eyelids. His blue iris skirted away from the light, intentionally evasive. "Daniel. Doctor Jackson, I need you to open your eyes."  
  
"Come on, Daniel," Sam whispered, still holding his hand fiercely.  
  
Daniel's brow knit in a wince then he barely opened his eyes. Blue hints peeked between dark lashes as he tracked blurry vision first to Sam, then to Janet.  
  
"Hello, Daniel," Janet smiled, "you gave us all quite a scare."  
  
Daniel blinked, disoriented, then licked his lips, voice hoarse from disuse as he muttered, "Sorry."  
  
Sam laughed uneasily.  
  
"Uhh, what...?" Daniel began, still looking around in confusion.  
  
"You've been in a coma for the past five days, since the mission to P78-294. Do you remember any of that?"  
  
Daniel's face screwed in concentration, "I remember, um... we were under attack, the Tok'ra.." then his eyes flew open, "Jack!"  
  
Sam and Janet exchanged quick, painful looks.  
  
"It's all right, Doctor Jackson," Janet tried to soothe in a carefully trained voice.  
  
"No, you don't understand, Jack was hit, I saw him. Is he okay?" Daniel tugged on Sam's hand as he looked between the women frantically.  
  
"We can talk about that later, Daniel," Janet pushed back on his shoulder to keep him lying down, knowing her most frequent patient well enough to know any second he'd try to struggle out of bed, particularly if he thought one of his friends was in trouble, "right now you need to rest."  
  
"But..." Daniel started to mutter.  
  
Giving Sam a curt shake of her head, Janet smiled as gently as she could at Daniel, "I need to inform General Hammond of your condition. I'll be right back, okay?" she patted Daniel's shoulder with maternal affection and turned to leave the room.  
  
Sam moved closer, voice strained, "It's good to have you back," and she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. Daniel's eyes were wide and innocent as he looked up at her, questioning. Sam tried to hide the truth, she did, but Daniel read people too well, understood Sam far better than she liked at the moment.  
  
"Jack's... gone, isn't he?" Daniel whispered.  
  
Sam felt a cry lodge in her throat but she refused to let it break free, instead only pressed her lips together and gave a teary nod.  
  
Daniel blinked at her, childlike in his open need for comfort, his need to be told the monster under his bed wasn't real. Sam could offer no such reassurance, only touched his face softly, needing to feel him alive and warm beneath her touch.  
  
"How..?" he croaked.  
  
Sam looked away, swallowing heavily before she said, "He was killed on P78-294. We lost a lot of people that day... Colonel O'Neill.." Sam frowned and took her free hand away from his face to press at her lips. When she looked back at her friend a tear had tracked down the side of his face, his eyes locked on her. Even if Sam wouldn't cry Daniel had no reservations, a man whose friendships were worn on his sleeve, his bond to the late colonel always undenied in the young man's blue gaze.  
  
Sam brushed the tear dry with her thumb. From the depths of her reserves she mustered a weak smile, "I'm just glad you're awake, Daniel."  
  
Daniel blinked heavily. Another tear trailed down his temple as a glistening pool collected in the corner of his other eye, trapped from falling by the angle of his turned head as he looked at Sam.  
  
When Janet finally returned to the room she knew at a glance that Daniel knew Jack was dead. Sam was trying to hold herself together and Daniel was crying. Janet ached for all of them, wishing she could have been there on P78-294, perhaps done something in the heat of the moment, maybe even enough to save his life.  
  
Janet sighed and moved slowly toward the pair, resigned to the fact that people were lost in battles, and Jack O'Neill had been added to that painful list.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack O'Neill cast a curious reflection in the elongated mirror within the underground hide-out of the Goa'uld Montu. The hunter green shirt he wore wrapped its lavishly excessive tail around his waist once then curled and flipped through a blue and gold belt, thoughtfully made to match the blue and silver pants, which of course had to go fantastically with the silver and green shoes that looked like they belonged on a court jester. The real coupe de gras, of course, was how the green in his shoes perfectly matched the coloring brushed into the hair at his temples. Outwardly his image gave no reaction to the ensemble besides to appraise its coordination with imperial approval, but inwardly Jack O'Neill was cringing.  
  
–Don't approve of the style?– Aetom asked, the barest hints of teasing in his tone.  
  
Jack looked again at himself in the mirror, horrified at his appearance, and retorted, 'I swear, every Goa'uld is gay.'  
  
Aetom's querulous reaction to the remark prompted Jack to toss out, 'Take a gander at Elton John and tell me I'm wrong,' and purposefully brought an image of the flamboyant entertainer to mind for Aetom's edification. The external facade of Jack O'Neill gave away nothing but callous superiority, but mentally Aetom chuckled. Jack gave an inward smirk, letting Elton John fade back into his cache of abstract memories, glad it had made Aetom laugh. When he got used to the sensation of Aetom's laughter inside his thoughts Jack stopped likening it to having earthworms dumped into his skull and instead admitted that it wasn't all that bad a feeling. Kind of like tickling. He would never in a million years confess that to anyone, especially Aetom, but the crux was that since Aetom was in his head and seemed to be able to read any thought Jack had the bastard snake probably already knew.  
  
Jack and Aetom were getting used to each other. They weren't turning into fast friends, but neither were they swearing blood feuds against one another, which in all honesty was more than Jack had expected even taking a positive outlook. After a week Jack O'Neill was just beginning to get used to not having control of his own body. He didn't like it, but he was getting used to it, reminding himself constantly that it was a necessary evil (a phrase, because of its insinuation, that Aetom didn't particularly care for).  
  
At first it had driven him crazy, watching his arms move without his express permission, hearing his mouth form words that he didn't plan to say and more times than not with which he didn't agree. He felt like a captive finch inside his own head, watching himself doing things and saying things with no control, fluttering to and fro in his cage uselessly. He'd started to resent Aetom for what he had to do, his mind a restless pit of uneasy energy in the Tok'ra's thoughts. Then, two days ago, the blow-up Jack had expected from day one.  
  
Jack had been testy, his usual unpleasant self when he was in a bad mood as of late, and Aetom had just snapped, actually yelling at him to stop fidgeting, to quit his distracting fuming over his predicament and constant poking to see if he could manage to overtake control of a hand here, a foot there, before they were both caught out for the impostors they were. Jack had been cultivating a lot of anger for days, and when Aetom declared it open season the colonel let his new Tok'ra free-loader have the full barrel. They spat at each other, snapped and barked like Middle Eastern countries at a summit meeting, and in the end, though Jack still wasn't sure how it had come to such occasion, Jack and Aetom had ended up both laughing at themselves. Their 'spat' had occurred in the main food court of Montu and his advisors during evening meal... the entire time the persona of 'Gornam', Montu's loyal advisor, risen from the fields of battle in a new host to serve his lord, sat passively without a hint of the internal conflict raging. Just as Jack and Aetom had resorted to some interesting exchanges of cross-cultural name-calling one of Montu's slave girls had been giving Gornam a lap-dance.  
  
Jack could sense Aetom glancing at his memories of that pivotal night and felt the Tok'ra give a small, imaginary smile. After dinner the night of the eruption when Gornam had retired to his quarters, Aetom and Jack had had a long talk about the terms of their arrangement for the duration of their forced time together. Ground rules were set, fences mended, truces established, and since then they'd settled into a respectful understanding of each other. Jack accepted that, until the mission was over, he would have to let Aetom pretend to be this Gornam, using Jack's body for the deception. In deference to Jack's insistence that he taste the freedom of owning his own limbs, at night, Aetom would give him control. He could never do much more than pace his own bedroom or wander the halls, required only to give snide looks at passing servants up at such odd hours, but it was a relief valve for the colonel and things were much calmer in the head that had two people jockeying for control.  
  
Jack watched, still sneering in revulsion, as Aetom smoothed his hands over the clothing they wore. While Jack's opinion was still out on Aetom, Gornam was a complete ass. To his credit, and sometimes Jack's chagrin, Aetom played the part well.  
  
–I have been doing this for a long time,– Aetom pointed out to his host's consciousness as bodily he took a proffered cup from a servant and tasted the wine with affected disinterest. Inside the crowded cranium, two very different reactions were warring. Jack rather enjoyed the Goa'uld wines, but Aetom found them repugnant, as he did all alcohol.  
  
Aetom turned to the servant, his resonant voice condescending as he barked, "That is all, slave, leave me."  
  
The slave hastily did as bade, slipping from the room and leaving Aetom to give one last glance at his appearance in the mirror and allowed a small frown as he did so. Jack was more than wrapped up in his own difficulties adjusting to the Tok'ra in his mind, but he was not entirely oblivious to Aetom's experience of the same conditions. He could feel the Tok'ra mildly startle when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and did not see his old, familiar host. Aetom knew his physical reflection was wrong, and whether Jack was meant to read that or not, he could sense it from Aetom every instance. Each time Aetom came face to face with the image of his new host there was a gaping sadness, the sense of loss for someone Jack had never seen besides burned to a crisp.  
  
'If the boys back at the SGC saw me like this I would NEVER live it down,' Jack groused at his deplorable reflection, 'I look like a Sherwood Forest reject.'  
  
Aetom was indulgent as he took the distraction as opportunity to set aside the goblet of wine, saying, –You must endure this masquerade for only a short while longer, Colonel O'Neill.–  
  
Jack sighed. Truth of the matter was that he found parading as a Goa'uld incredibly boring, and Aetom was becoming all too aware of the well-known fact at the SGC that Jack O'Neill did not suffer boredom well.  
  
–It is not nearly so sedentary under normal circumstances, but lying in wait as Montu does now does leave a great deal to be desired as far as adventure goes.– Aetom picked up the ribbon device waiting atop a small table, the last of his wardrobe to be donned, and began to put it on his left hand with disconcerting familiarity. Jack tried to ignore the procedure, put ill at ease by the Goa'uld device. When once Aetom had asked Jack about his unfavorable reaction to the tool the colonel had only clipped, 'Been on the wrong end of those things one too many times not to get the willies, pal.'  
  
Jack perked up at Aetom's comment, curious and making a concerted effort to not linger on the golden torture device the Tok'ra was affixing to their hand, 'Didn't know the Tok'ra had a sense of adventure.'  
  
Aetom stepped out into the hallway once finished dressing. He appeared focused and unreachable while the entire time half his attention was on his host's mind, –Is it so surprising to you that such things are gone from the Tok'ra now? We are an old race, Colonel O'Neill, and many of us have spent hundreds or thousands of years witnessing Goa'uld oppression. Such things tend to make one's 'spirit of adventure' wane.–  
  
Jack mused on that, reluctantly coming to agreement with Aetom. He could imagine hundreds of years in the thick of fighting the Goa'uld would tend to suck out the fun from life. It also elucidated a fact that Colonel O'Neill had always noticed in the Tok'ra but misinterpreted. Most of the Tok'ra he'd met he'd pinned as prudish and curt, but in truth each and every one of them was tired. He tried to imagine being at war with the Goa'uld for as long as the Tok'ra had been and easily pictured himself becoming wearied by the endless fighting. He would probably get short-tempered and impatient, too. Of course, it didn't discount the possibility that some of the Tok'ra were just pricks by nature, but it certainly helped soften his harder opinions of some of the milder Tok'ra.  
  
Aetom heard Jack's musings on the Tok'ra and at the colonel's rather harsh assessment of some of the Tok'ra he actually smiled in agreement rather than take offense.  
  
'So at one point the Tok'ra did have a sense of humor?' Jack prompted.  
  
Aetom seemed to consider Jack from an askance point of view, –We still do have a sense of humor, O'Neill, a very refined one at that compared to the Tau'ri's. As to our adventurousness... once, long ago, yes. As we say, there was a day when Tok'ra played.–  
  
Jack smirked, fully cognizant of the fact that Aetom was taking intentional pot shots at Jack's sense of humor. It had become a source of congenial taunting, because in fact, once he got used to its intricacies, Aetom was starting to enjoy Jack's peculiar sense of humor.  
  
'Are you sure about this plan of yours?'  
  
–I know Montu's moves very well. I have spent twenty years studying him and his advisors to know what will happen in a situation such as this. When he decides to move from his position on this planet those accompanying him will depart in two waves, so that confusion as to which group he travels with will offer a measure of protection against attacks. Then we have our best chance of killing Montu... he will be more isolated, chances for aide fewer. It will not be much longer, rest assured, Colonel O'Neill, soon you and I will both have revenge for the colleagues we've lost to this snake.–


	8. Chapter 8

"DanielJackson, it is good to see you on your feet once again," Teal'c said to his teammate as he stopped in the hall when he came across the young archaeologist. Daniel was doing the infirmary shuffle, and though he was, for the first time in two weeks, wearing actual clothes as opposed to a hospital gown, he was still obviously walking wounded.  
  
Daniel reached out a hand to steady himself on the wall. As he did so the towering Jaffa moved closer and gently took Daniel by the arm, helping him down the hallway at the snail's pace Daniel was comfortable with. "Thanks, Teal'c," he winced and touched his chest lightly.  
  
"Are you in great pain?" Teal'c asked.  
  
Daniel huffed, "It's not so bad, my ribs still ache from that damn chest tube they had stuck in me, makes it hard to catch a decent breath." Both lapsed into a hanging silence, the reason for their quiet the proverbial white elephant tap-dancing in the corner.  
  
Daniel barely whispered, "I... missed the memorial service."  
  
Teal'c's hands held Daniel ever so slightly tighter and the Jaffa's jaw clenched, "Indeed, but DoctorFraiser was correct that you were not yet fit to leave her care."  
  
Daniel stopped to catch his breath, face pale, and Teal'c stopped alongside him, prepared to wait forever until Daniel felt well enough to move again. Frowning, Daniel looked down, "I should have been there."  
  
Teal'c touched Daniel's shoulder, making a good show of sounding supportive and strong, "ColonelO'Neill would have understood your absence. Had he in fact been present, he would have insisted you remain in the infirmary."  
  
Daniel gave a weak smirk, "Yeah... but then if he'd been here I wouldn't have had any reason to go in the first place." Daniel grimaced, "Wait, no, that's not right. A lot of other people died on that mission... I would have gone for them, too, I would have..."  
  
"It is all right, DanielJackson... I am aware of your meaning, and I believe you are correct."  
  
Daniel momentarily swayed, complexion ashen, and Teal'c stepped in closer to his friend in case the young man started to fall. Instead Daniel recovered himself, one hand anchored on the wall, "I miss him, Teal'c."  
  
"As do I and MajorCarter."  
  
Daniel's face screwed, misplaced anger marring his gentle features as he hit the wall once with the heel of his hand while he took strained, ragged breaths. His impotent anger did not entirely fade, only diffused as Daniel looked down the corridor, lips pinched.  
  
Teal'c said nothing, only stood close, tactile reassurance and comfort to his mourning teammate.  
  
Their quiet companionship was shattered by flashing alarm lights and the wail of a by-now familiar siren. "Unscheduled off-world activation!"  
  
Daniel managed only a sigh. He reached out for Teal'c's shoulder and asked wearily, "Help me to the briefing room?"  
  
Teal'c dipped his head in affirmation and took Daniel's arm once more. He let the human lean on him as they both made their way toward the briefing room amid scurrying airmen. 

* * *

"Sam... I'm so sorry, I just found out," Jacob Carter moved across the room to take his daughter in a hug, not even five minutes having passed since he stepped through the stargate. Sam held perfectly still, making no move to return the embrace when Jacob wrapped his arms around his little girl. Instead, she only answered stiffly, "Hi, Dad."  
  
Jacob pulled back, looking closely at his daughter. She was frayed, there was no question about that, but there was something guarded and hostile in her eyes as she stared back at him. She must have sensed it, too, because quite abruptly she looked away.  
  
Jacob frowned, confused, "I was on a mission when it happened, if I could have been there.."  
  
Sam shook her head, "It's okay. Probably wouldn't have changed what happened." Sam limped toward the briefing room table to ease herself into a chair, conveniently out of range of another hug.  
  
"You're hurt," Jacob stepped toward her, worried.  
  
"It's nothing... Daniel's worse off than I am."  
  
Jacob couldn't make heads or tails of Sam's aloofness, her inexplicably chill reception of her own father. "Let Selmac help," he began to offer, but Sam looked up sharply at him, eyes flickering blue fire. She had the presence of mind to look away again, even looked shameful for reacting so overtly, but it was enough for Jacob to understand. It wasn't him Sam was displeased to see, it was a Tok'ra.  
  
Jacob took the seat beside Sam, reached out for her hand, "Sam, listen to me. I know we screwed up, but what happened to Jack O'Neill is not the Tok'ra's fault."  
  
Sam tried once to pull her hand free, which Jacob would not allow, then she looked down at her lap and sighed sadly, "I know... it's just, I'm so mad and I don't know who else to blame."  
  
Jacob rubbed her hand gently, "Blame the Goa'uld. Montu is going to pay for this, I promise you, Sammie. He's messed with the wrong species."  
  
Sam gave a weak, humorless smile, then looked up carefully at her father and said lowly, like an illicit secret she was repentant to know, "General Hammond's mentioned me taking command of SG-1."  
  
Jacob nodded, "He's a smart man to do so... you're a fine officer and you know the job better than anyone. I think you deserve command."  
  
Sam took a wavering breath, "I don't want.." then she stopped, looking up toward the ceiling then down at the table.  
  
Jacob brushed back the blonde locks of hair on her forehead, "I know, you don't want to take his place. Trust me, kiddo, I know what you're going through and exactly how you feel right now. But we all have to move on... you know that. Besides, if not you then someone else would be assigned command, and I don't think you want someone else doing Jack's job."  
  
Sam nodded and finally gave her father's hand that clasped hers an affectionate squeeze. Jacob patted her hand gently, "For what it's worth... Selmac's sorry about what happened. Come on, let Selmac heal you; we can at least ease the pain."  
  
Sam started to say something, from her expression something on the rude side of unpleasant, but before the words could slip her mouth she stopped, collected her thoughts, then said, "Take care of Daniel first."  
  
Jacob thought better than to argue, "All right, we'll heal you both," and he tugged his daughter to her feet with a steadying hand on her back just as Daniel Jackson and Teal'c hobbled into the briefing room. From the wary, wavering looks both cast Jacob when they saw him, the general realized that Sam was not the only one bearing a grudge against the Tok'ra for what happened on the mission to destroy Montu that cost the SGC and the Tok'ra so many valuable lives.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack's eyes flew open as a panic not his own pulsed through him. He cast furtive eyes around the darkened room, seeing nothing in the shadows of Gornam's quarters to cause alarm, but still an irrepressible fear was surrounding him, pressing from all sides. His first instinct was to jump from the bed, confront the hidden foe that his sensory danger detectors were convinced was there, but after two weeks with a Tok'ra symbiote he had learned to gauge before action whether stimulus asking him to move and fight came from the environment or within his own mind. Jack tried to calm the fluttering fright crowding against him enough to seek Aetom.  
  
He discovered a whirl of thoughts, disjointed and unclear, as though his only perspective was in a fun house mirror. Like memories of a life he'd never led, images came to him. He was someone else, his face unrecognizable and yet him... he was afraid. A whip cracked against the exposed skin of his back and Jack physically arched on the bed, feeling the welts burn between his shoulders as though the scene was real. Fire and smoke filled his lungs with hot air, choking. He was running... he was captured, the terror cycling again and again.  
  
Jack, pushing half off the bed with arm locked, tried ineffectively to escape the torment, at last thinking beyond the terrifying images to yell, 'AETOM!'  
  
As a twig snaps in two the images stopped, ebbed into nothingness as the Tok'ra's salient presence rose from the void of Jack's unconscious. Jack was shaking, gulping breaths of cool air, shuffling slowly and carefully back on the bed until he was sitting precariously near the edge, poised to jump into action but from what or against what he couldn't say.  
  
–O'Neill?– Aetom ventured cautiously.  
  
Jack swallowed, eyes still flickering restively around the empty room, 'What the HELL was that?!'  
  
Aetom's emotions stained him, touched him with regret and despair, –I am sorry.–  
  
Jack was able to calm his trembling, his breathing no longer rushed and desperate. 'Just... what was that?'  
  
Aetom thought a moment, –I suppose you would call it a nightmare.–  
  
'Tok'ra dream?' Jack was taken off guard by the notion.  
  
–Sometimes... our dreams are not as yours, more accurately we relive things, we remember. I'm sorry I woke you.– Aetom faded, withdrew from Jack, and in doing so left him as alone as any host to a symbiote could ever be.  
  
Jack looked back at the bed and knew sleep was out of the question.  
  
'Aetom?' he called.  
  
Aetom reemerged from the blackness. His presence felt decidedly haggard, –Yes?–  
  
Jack thought back to the images of torture he'd seen, the feeling of leather laying open the skin of his back, and Aetom shied somewhat when he understood Jack was asking about the content of the nightmare.  
  
–Once I had been a captive of Apophis,– Aetom responded and offered nothing more as unease drifted through Jack's mind.  
  
'How long did you have to go through that?'  
  
Aetom didn't answer at first, quiet so long Jack thought the Tok'ra might be refusing to answer, then he heard, –A month. One of our Tok'ra operatives was working within Apophis's ranks when I was a prisoner... she abandoned her mission, freed me, and together we escaped.–  
  
Jack felt Aetom's relief at being released from Apophis's clutches, and before he could stop himself he was empathizing. Understanding rose to accept Aetom's past, the memories, and Aetom startled at Jack's reaction. –How can you..?–  
  
Jack wasn't sure he meant to share the truth, uncertain about opening his past to a snake, but before he could stop his own thoughts he growled 'Iraq,' and there were memories. Four months in a dark cell, beaten, starved, tortured for information that he would sooner die than divulge and then discovering he was too ignorant to spare himself any of the pain, anyway... Jack shared with Aetom the fear he had never confessed to another soul, shared the pain and terror because with a symbiote in the thick of his thoughts he could not stop the exchange of private emotions. The rush of memories ended in a bitter reel, and Jack found himself sitting, mind quiet, troubled by Aetom's utter silence.  
  
Jack felt the memories of Iraq coming forth again, not called into mind by him but pulled from the recesses by Aetom. Aetom had never before actively tried to retrieve any of Jack's personal memories. Jack nearly asked the Tok'ra to stop, unwilling to remember again, but before he could mount a protest a strange sensation overtook him. The Iraqi cell loomed and then was insulated, a sense of protection and strength interposing itself between him and that terrible time in his past, and suddenly he could see it and remember it but it couldn't hurt him.  
  
'Did you do that?' Jack wondered, almost awed to look upon his imprisonment for the first time and not feel stabs of terror, swells of panic and pain.  
  
–Yes.–  
  
Jack blinked, still befuddled, then said honestly, 'Thank you.'  
  
Aetom risked to engulf Jack in his presence, and instead of flying into a panic Jack waited and was surprised to find that it almost felt like a strong embrace enclosing him. It was a strange feeling of safety that he let happen.  
  
As quickly as he had enfolded Colonel O'Neill Aetom backed off again, easing away from Jack's consciousness, and stated merely, –It is one of many things a symbiote and host can provide one another... you gave me that tonight, and I considered it my duty to return the favor.–  
  
'I did that to you?' Jack questioned.  
  
–You did, when you saw my pain and did not turn away. I thank you, Colonel. Sleep now, O'Neill, tomorrow will come soon.–  
  
Jack slowly laid back down on the bed. He made an honest effort to go back to sleep but was still too wired and confused. He stared into the darkened room, distracted by his own mind. 'Aetom?'  
  
–Yes?–  
  
Jack rolled on to his back, uncomfortable with the question nagging at him but consumed to learn the answer, 'If a symbiote and its host can share the bad memories and have them come through so strong... is it the same way with the good ones?'  
  
Aetom smiled gently, for the second time reaching out the barest of touches to comfort Jack, not a full-blown 'hug' as before but the whispered hints of the same effect. –Yes, it is.–  
  
Jack left his query at that and turned back on to his side and closed his eyes, deciding that if he couldn't actually go back to sleep he could at least fake it. Aetom did not entirely pull away from his host; he lingered at the edges of his perception, reminding Jack of being on a mission with SG-1, the familiar sensation of having a pair of eyes at his back as he bedded down the for the night. He was unguarded, exposed to the slightest thoughts from Aetom, letting the raw connection between them remain.  
  
He was attentive, intrigued, when another thought not his own came to the forefront of his mind. It was a child, the daughter of Aetom's former host. The memory was simple, a glimpse of the girl sleeping. The moonlight bathed her serene face in pale light, slivers of dark blue shining in her black hair, the blankets of her bed drawn up around her tiny shoulders. Peace and content were bound to her, tied to the child like a physical tether, and Jack could feel it. As he laid in Gornam's room, feigning sleep, he broke into a faint, easy smile.  
  
Aetom smiled with him, shared love for a girl that had belonged to neither of them, and held her memory vigil in honor of the Tok'ra who had died weeks ago.  
  
As he drifted toward sleep, relaxed again, Jack thought of Charlie. He remembered holding his newborn son, the details of his tiny face captivating as the child's small hand curled around his father's finger. Jack felt the pride and love overwhelm him at the memory of holding Charlie's tiny body in his hands for the first time.  
  
As Jack drifted off to sleep the memory lingered, an evanescent peace from a time so long ago, and slowly he sensed another being with him in the hospital room of his memory, someone familiar. Aetom, as though standing at Jack's shoulder, as if there on the day of Charlie's birth, just as proud of the newborn child as the boy's father.  
  
Jack's mind flared for a moment, stirred to resist and defend that precious memory against the creature in his mind, but at the last instant he let go of the rising anger. Instead, he let Aetom share the joy, experience through him one of the best days of his life, and allowed it to carry him back into sleep.

* * *

The Goa'uld Montu was a pompous bastard with a penchant for green. Blame obviously rested on him for Colonel O'Neill looking like he'd rubbed grass stains into the sides of his head. Jack watched, a bystander to the things his own body did as it stood before the Goa'uld, but he could and did keep up a running commentary if for the soul purpose of entertaining himself. In two and a half weeks he'd learned to walk the fine line between keeping himself occupied and being a considerable distraction to Aetom.  
  
"Gornam, you have been a steadfast advisor to me for many, many years," Montu said lowly, the gold tips of the ribbon device that was trapping his left hand made clicking sounds as he fingered the emeralds inlaid in his clothing.  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Aetom bowed his head while at the same time commiserated with Jack as the colonel made an internalized face of repulsion.  
  
"You have fought back from an inferior host cut down in battle to take another and return to me."  
  
Aetom's fury flared for Montu's remark about his former, much-loved host. Jack carefully edged closer to his symbiote's consciousness as he intoned, 'Easy there, fella.' Aetom simmered, but by no means let go the insult to Kurya.  
  
"You are a just and powerful master, my Lord, I am honored to serve you."  
  
Montu turned to look at Aetom, glare critical. Jack felt uneasy at the close scrutiny but Aetom, so much better at meeting Montu's challenges from decades of experience, did not flinch. Montu trailed his eyes once up and down Jack's body, the way one appraised livestock, then his lip curled derisively. Jack ruffled at the Goa'uld's expression which seemed to suggest the replacement host Aetom had found was substandard compared to his last. Jack didn't like to think of himself as vain, but he couldn't be worth all _that_ sneering.  
  
–Easy, fella,– Aetom took a brief instant to return Jack's previous statement, an effort that went a long way to settling Jack's temper.  
  
"You have proven yourself, Gornam, and for this I would have you hear me and speak your mind on a matter of grave importance."  
  
Aetom bowed his head again, "As you wish, I will do all that you ask."  
  
Montu nodded and his eyes moved to consider the entrance to his private room a moment before speaking. "I fear my advisory council has been diseased, blackened and spoiled by the Tok'ra scourge."  
  
Jack quickly sought Aetom's thoughts, trying to read if this was a tactic he'd been expecting, trying to assess how much danger they might be in. Aetom was surprised by the remark as well but he maintained his poise and in doing so betrayed nothing, "Lord Montu, you are a strong ruler but even more dangerous enemy, who among your counselors would dare to work against you?"  
  
Montu watched Aetom a long moment, unblinking, then spoke, "This I do not know, but it is an infestation I cannot permit. The vermin Tok'ra must be driven from my council and destroyed for its insolence. You, Gornam," Montu turned away deliberately, "are of a select few among my advisors I know are loyal to me."  
  
"No one is more loyal than I," Aetom groveled. In regards to his host, he sensed Jack within his thoughts start to stand down from high alert.  
  
Montu turned back to Aetom with a goblet in hand and cut an imperious look at the disguised Tok'ra, "Perhaps this is so. I have summoned you for this very loyalty you purport so strongly. Two days time I will leave this wretched planet to at last enjoy my defeat of Seshat, and at the same moment I will pull from my side the thorn that is this Tok'ra spy."  
  
"Whatever I may do to aide you, my Lord."  
  
Montu lifted one brow at Aetom, calculating. "You will accompany me on the second fleet to leave this planet, a chosen few among my counselors, Gornam."  
  
"I am honored, my Lord."  
  
Montu continued with a sneer, "I will send as the first party each of my advisors for whom I harbor doubt. They will fly to the false safety of my fleet, where they will be destroyed, the Tok'ra rouge along with them. Already my fleet awaits them, prepared to deliver death by my order. You will gain a position of greater power at my service when I have done this, Gornam."  
  
"I understand, my Lord."  
  
"Know this... if you are maddened by the scent of power I will cut you down with a single stroke. The loss of so many advisors will not weaken me, it will make me stronger. I will not be defeated from within my own forces."  
  
"Never, my Lord."  
  
Montu took a drink, idly turned the green and gold cup in his hand, then dismissed Aetom with a flicker of his fingers, "Leave me, Gornam, and think of what I have said. Two days."  
  
"I will, my Lord."

* * *

Jack could feel anticipation thrum through his body, spurred to excitement by his Tok'ra symbiote and flowing in his veins like a euphoric adrenaline rush. It infected him, bled into his own emotional state and made him almost giddy to think today would be the day Montu met his death. For the immediate moment, even finding a way back to Earth became secondary to the long-awaited satisfaction of seeing Montu broken and bleeding at his feet. The night before he had dreamed of the Goa'uld begging for mercy, and in his dreams Aetom was there, beside him, like a twin with green sideburns, united with Jack as he watched the life ooze from the Goa'uld tyrant. Jack awoke on a battle-high, ready for the final confrontation, figuratively frothing at the mouth.  
  
Jack had picked up Aetom's hatred for Montu as one might a cold, and after a time the feelings were as though his own. In the last three days, because it was easy to slip and forget to protect against things spawned in his own head and because he demanded to know everything the Tok'ra did, any tactical detail that might give them an advantage against the Goa'uld they would be facing, Jack had let Aetom's mind bleed into his, thoughts twining like vines until some aspects were no longer solely the property of one individual or the other.. including Aetom's loathing for Montu. It became theirs. Jack hated Montu, adopted the feeling with relish because it was no task for him to detest a snake, and today would be a very gratifying day for both. All the Tok'ra and people from the SGC that had died because of this snake would at last rest easy, their murders avenged.  
  
Aetom and Jack were outside the underground complex, watching the first fleet of ships carrying doomed advisors to Montu arch into the sky and away from the planet. It was a lovely day, which struck a chord of morbid amusement in Aetom that Jack at once picked up on.  
  
'Something funny? Care to share?'  
  
Aetom blinked into the sky, –Colonel O'Neill... this will either be a good day to live or to die, and we may do either.–  
  
Jack had to wonder a moment that the Tok'ra would find that at all amusing. He would never understand the Tok'ra sense of humor, and in fact was mildly incensed that they had the nerve to say HIS sense of humor was off-center.  
  
–Being blended with you... there are a few worse things I have endured,– to which a fleeting image of being tortured by Apophis flitted through their collective brain.  
  
At that Jack did smirk and deftly returned, 'Yeah, well, never what I had in mind either, if you'll pardon the pun, but as far as Tok'ra go...'  
  
–I will take that in the spirit in which it was intended.–  
  
'Look, this is getting too cliche, last-speechy for me... you think we could just get this show on the road?'  
  
Aetom turned from the retreating ships and made his way back toward the door to the underground compound, respecting his host's wishes and offering nothing more of concrete thoughts or words.


	10. Chapter 10

Major Carter had always embraced the concept of getting right back on the horse after falling off. Her father had taught her to confront her misgivings, her fears, and a career in the Air Force had reinforced that policy of owing up to uncertainty without hesitation. Even so, as she stood at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the stargate she couldn't still the anxious butterflies in her stomach that had not troubled her composure since her first trip through the gate. She was, privately, scared out of her mind.  
  
"Major?" a female voice ventured carefully as the fifth chevron locked.  
  
Major Carter blinked out of her petrified thoughts to look over at Captain Rawlins, who stood at her side in full field gear, P-90 at the ready across her stomach. The woman was watching her with sympathy in her warm gaze, sadness still never far behind for the teammates she'd lost. For a second Sam wanted to smile and quip 'first command jitters,' to establish a bond to one of the few other women on the base, gain some measure of friendship, but Sam had to settle for only a nod and professional, "As you were, Captain." Sam was commander of SG-1 and a great deal of command was appearance, how her team saw her. She couldn't admit to butterflies in front of her team, not when they had to be able to place faith in her decisions in the heat of battle. She had to come off as unflappable.  
  
Captain Rawlins nodded and turned to watch the sixth chevron engage, saying faintly as it glowed orange, "I'm a little scared to go through again, ma'am."  
  
Sam was relieved she wasn't the only one, and even more grateful to General Hammond for making the new SG-1's first mission out a standard survey... she'd like to know she could handle watching Daniel study rocks before she had to lead anyone into a fire fight.  
  
"Gotta get back on the horse, Captain."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
From the control room: "Chevron seven locked."  
  
The blue eruption of the establishing event horizon rushed into the embarkation room like a tidal wave then retreated, leaving at its source a shimmering, bright blue liquid light.  
  
"SG-1, you have a go," General Hammond's voice came over the intercom.  
  
Taking a steadying breath, Sam hoped her voice didn't crack, "All right, people, move out."  
  
Rawlins took the first step toward the event horizon, grim face set in determination, and Sam was already proud of her. In time she might belong with this new SG-1; she was definitely made of stern enough stuff.  
  
Teal'c went after Rawlins, then Sam felt Daniel at her side and looked over at him. He was watching her, blue eyes compassionate to everything Sam was feeling, even the things to which she would never admit. She was hopeless to hide anything from him, standing before him feeling naked, and wondered if Colonel O'Neill had ever stood like this, a rock to everyone else but transparent as glass to Daniel.  
  
The thought of Colonel O'Neill rushed at her, a radiating ache that, nearly a month after his death, was still crippling if she gave in to its force. For that very reason she couldn't give in, holding her defenses at all costs.  
  
"You okay, Sam?" Daniel asked softly and reached out to touch her arm.  
  
Starting them up the ramp, Sam clasped her hand on Daniel's shoulder and ferried him forward, "Fine. Let's go... we still have a job to do."  
  
If Daniel noticed the forced bravado in her voice he didn't call her out on it. He only gave her a thin, friendly smile, consenting without a word of resistance to her slide into command of SG-1. Daniel stepped through the wormhole event horizon before her. It left Sam one last second to silently hope to god she didn't screw up before following her team out of the SGC and to a distant point in the galaxy.

* * *

"I will have you ripped apart for this betrayal!"  
  
They were bold words from a helpless man. Montu was crumpled on the floor, splayed on his knees, left arm cradled to his chest as blood stained his skin and clothes. Where moments ago he had possessed a ribbon device and personal body shield, indeed where there had been a hand, was now a bloody stump, spilling forth the precious blood of the hapless Goa'uld host. His eyes flashed white as still, even near defeat, he challenged his attacker.  
  
Aetom lowered the staff weapon that had dashed the hand from the Goa'uld, his own eyes glowing as he glared down at Montu's enfeebled form. Jack was looming in his mind like a thunderstorm, an urging force, a restless spectator, chanting without words for Montu's death.  
  
Aetom took a step closer, chin upturned, "You are defeated, Montu. You have sent to death those who might have fought for you, locked within your walls your greatest enemy, the Tok'ra fiend you tried so hard to find. I stand before you, Montu, your fatal mistake."  
  
Montu snarled and blood dripped to the floor between his legs, "I was not fool enough to send away all but you, Tok'ra filth! Advisors still fill these halls, you will be destroyed for this!"  
  
Aetom allowed a very self-satisfied smirk, "Your advisors lay dead, Montu, poisoned for their foolery to think one of their own could be trusted, drunk from the cup of the Tok'ra resistance. You are alone, Montu, as you will die."  
  
Montu tried once, out of sheer force of will and by drawing on fury, to rise to his feet. Jack watched through his own eyes, unable to contain his anger, his blood-lust, his determination that Montu die now... right now.  
  
Aetom purposefully lifted his left hand, his eyes flashed, and Jack could feel something within him building up force, igniting each thought with fire. In an instant if felt as though the Tok'ra wrapped around his brain stem and spinal cord had become an electric eel, wriggling and coiling like lightening. It burned white with fury, murderous rage, and when it seemed the wildfire would consume his sanity there was an outlet. The ribbon device leapt to life, angry tendrils reaching toward Montu.  
  
The Goa'uld gasped, gargling as he fought to no avail, trapped, fated at that second.  
  
Jack could have turned himself into liquid energy just to channel himself through his own hand. The fury coursed through his body, a siren's call in the center of his palm heralding all the anger, expelling it from his own body only to focus it on Montu. At first there was only the release of uncontrollable anger, catharsis, then there were sensations crawling their way back through the device. Jack embraced them, thrilled by them. He could feel the victim's fear, the pain, the heat of the Goa'uld within being cooked alive. Aetom was oblivious to Jack for the first time since they were blended, focused with dogged determination on Montu's demise. For the first time in his life, Jack would have described himself as a cheerleader, screaming from the sidelines and shaking his pom poms.  
  
Jack bathed in Aetom's dark joy in at last, after so long, seeing Montu broken and near death before him. Boiling... Montu was writhing in fire-born agony, moments from death... Jack could taste it, the sweetest flavor, an intoxicating elixir. He watched his own hands do this, dispense death upon a Goa'uld with nothing more than will and the wave of his hand, and he liked it.  
  
Montu gave one last strangled scream then collapsed to the floor.  
  
The river of fury that Jack had ridden with alacrity suddenly vanished, the rapids of vengeance at once bone dry. Order returned, coolness amidst the pockets of white fire. Jack blinked, unsteady at the sudden shift, part of his mind looking for the wild rivers of fire, longing to ride them forever.  
  
–Colonel O'Neill,– a tired voice pulled at him, dragging him away from the futile search, –it is done.–  
  
Jack looked down at the motionless form of Montu, disappointed for a fleeting moment that it was gone so soon, but quickly common sense took hold. 'What about that sarcophagus thing? Can't they revive him?'  
  
Aetom was slow to answer. He lowered his left hand and reached for the lavish folds of his shirt, –Not once he has been ripped from his host,– and his hands came away brandishing a blade. Aetom looked at the sharp edge, unmoving.  
  
Jack did not understand the sudden reluctance, unwillingness, that brushed through his thoughts, their source Aetom. He pressed forward for control and took the knife from Aetom without the weapon ever really changing hand. Aetom deferred to Jack, passed off command of their single body, and the colonel basked in the relief that always came when he could move his hands as he chose, the little spark of elation that he was still himself.  
  
Jack moved quickly to the fallen Goa'uld's side. He rolled the body on to its stomach and without batting an eyelash plunged the dagger into the back of the host's neck. There was very little blood, even less resistance, and when Jack saw the gray-white hint of the symbiote he reached in with his bare hands, took hold, and pulled. With a fast tug the snake came loose, slipping from the gash in the host's neck and lying limp in Jack's grip. The jaws of the finned serpent were pink and gray with bits of human brain tissue, the long body slick with red blood that welled between Jack's fingers.  
  
There was a transient urge to puke, and this time it wasn't from Jack.  
  
The colonel set the dead Goa'uld on the floor, reclaimed the knife and quickly sawed through the parasite's neck. When it came free he picked it up and tossed the severed head against the far wall and finally stood, looking down at his stained hands. He waited for a psychotic whisper in his ear, direction, but there was a dead silence.  
  
'Aetom?'  
  
Jack felt a disquieted stirring in his thoughts, reluctance, then, –We must flee, O'Neill. Montu's Jaffa will not be gone long; we must not be found here.–  
  
Tucking the knife back into his clothes, Jack stepped over the corpse and moved toward the door, on his way casting a glance down at his left hand. The ribbon device called to him, a tool of alluring power, and he flexed his fingers, watching the gold catch the light, and allowed a small smile. 


	11. Chapter 11

General Hammond looked at the people gathered around the briefing room table. To his left were two Tok'ra representatives, sitting with solemn and unrushed poise. They had come through the stargate only ten minutes ago, dispensing with the few pleasantries that the Tok'ra allowed for diplomacy and promising Hammond they had some very good news. They had also requested the presence of SG-1.  
  
Hammond looked to his right and took in the postures and expressions of his people. Immediately beside him was Major Carter, her blue gaze unwavering as she pinned both Tok'ra with a hot look. A quiet intensity had settled over her since assuming command of SG-1. She had become the leader Hammond knew she was capable of being, but there were the bitter hints about her person that lingered any time someone's promotion followed on the heels of a friend's death, apparant in the mannerisms she adopted with her new command. Daniel Jackson was beside her, slumped back in his chair and giving the Tok'ra a rather unpleasant scowl, brows drawn over blue eyes, corners of his mouth worth a thousand words. To Daniel Jackson's left was Captain Rawlins, sandwiched between Daniel and Teal'c, performing just as well as her teammates at giving the Tok'ra unwelcome stares. Hammond was relieved to see Rawlins placed within the team, not tacked on the end at Teal'c's right side. Instead, with Sam and Teal'c on either end, the two youngest members of SG-1 were afforded a measure of protection and support from the Jaffa and their CO. Teal'c's stare was steady as he sat with hands folded atop the table, attention riveted like a stalking pit bull.  
  
Hammond suspected if he didn't speak up this staring contest could go on until the second coming. "SG-1, your presence has been requested because the Tok'ra have informed me that they have some intelligence to report."  
  
Sam shot a short but pointed look at General Hammond, a look that said 'not again, sir, we're not heading out on intel given to us by the damned Tok'ra,' but in the next second she looked back calmly at the Tok'ra representatives.  
  
The first Tok'ra nodded to General Hammond then shifted to sit nearer the table, "The Tok'ra council believed you would all be interested to learn that the Goa'uld Montu is dead."  
  
Startled surprise replaced evil looks for everyone on SG-1. Each looked at one another to make sure they'd all heard the same. Sam turned back to the Tok'ra, sounding doubtful, "Dead?"  
  
The Tok'ra nodded as his lips flickered a very infinitesimal smile.  
  
Sam frowned dubiously, at which point General Hammond jumped in, "What makes you certain that Montu is dead?"  
  
The Tok'ra replied calmly, "Yesterday we received a communication from the operative we had within Montu's advisory council, Aetom. We assumed him lost in the battle, but he reestablished contact with the Tok'ra to tell us he had succeeded in his mission and Montu was dead."  
  
"Was this operative able to relay to you the means by which Montu died?" Teal'c asked lowly.  
  
"Unfortunately he was able to tell us very little. While he had confirmed the death of Montu he was himself still at risk of being discovered by the Goa'uld's Jaffa; he was necessarily forced to keep his communique brief, but the Tok'ra council believed you would like to know that Montu has been destroyed."  
  
No one on SG-1 made any response. In fact, they were all staring alternately at their hands, laps, or the table top.  
  
"That is excellent news," Hammond took it upon himself to say and nodded to the Tok'ra.  
  
Nodding in return, the Tok'ra pushed back from the table, "You will forgive our briefness, General, but it is vital we return as quickly as possible."  
  
"Of course," Hammond nodded, stood, and gestured toward the door. "Again, we appreciate you making the effort to inform us."  
  
As the Tok'ra were led down the hallway toward the gate room, leaving a stunned and silent SG-1 in the briefing room, one of the Tok'ra turned to General Hammond, "Forgive us, but SG-1 did not seem pleased to hear of Montu's death."  
  
Hammond gave a grim, forced smile, "They were all hoping to have that pleasure themselves."  
  
"Surely the death of a Goa'uld is cause for celebration regardless the means by which he has died?"  
  
Hammond sighed, "I agree with you, and so will SG-1 when they get used to the idea they won't be avenging their friends' deaths personally."


	12. Chapter 12

Jack tossed the long-range Goa'uld communication orb in the air, catching it then tossing it again as he sat propped against a tree trunk on P78-294. His manner suggested unawareness, disinterest in his surroundings, but in fact he was on the alert for any sign of enemy Jaffa. They'd whiled away two days evading capture, he and Aetom, melting into the forest while Montu's Jaffa patrolled like scurrying lost ants. They were workers without the queen bee, running circles without direction; it was only a matter of time before they gave up... hopefully.  
  
Jack tossed the orb once more, rolled it in his hands, and looked up through the sun-spotted tree canopy. For being hunted and snaked, it was turning out to be a fairly decent vacation. Hiding in the woods was almost like going up to Minnesota for a weekend, minus the cold and mosquitoes. After they had fled into the forest there was no longer reason for Aetom to continue his act as Gornam, so without fanfare he returned to Jack full control of his body. He had not asked command again but for a brief ten second communication to the Tok'ra council, otherwise giving Jack all the freedom an un-snaked human enjoyed. All things considered and given the circumstances, Jack was in a pretty good mood.  
  
Jack set the ball down in the grass beside him, threaded his fingers around his bent knee and asked, 'How long will they keep at this?'  
  
–Not for much longer. They will realize their god has been slain, not to rise again, and escape through the Chappa'ai, most likely to ingratiate themselves into the service of another Goa'uld.–  
  
Jack nodded to himself. He looked over the terrain he'd navigated earlier that morning to come to this little patch of alien Eden. The grove of trees and grass he'd found and temporarily claimed was nestled inside a miniature valley, as though set in the depression of a fault line, craggy faces of stone rising from the south and west.  
  
'Noticed something... my knees don't ache like they used to.'  
  
–They wouldn't,– Aetom answered, –Tok'ra don't have arthritis or lingering old injuries.–  
  
Jack flexed his knees, pleased to feel no creaking or stiffness, 'Will this go away when you're gone?'  
  
Aetom almost seemed to sigh, –Not at first, but when I am not here to maintain your condition chronic problems will probably return.–  
  
Jack stood and wiped grass from his pants. He bounced up on the balls of his feet a couple of times, feeling like the six-million dollar man. He'd not felt so young or strong for a long time, perhaps even never felt quite this untouchable in his life. He could certainly see some of the perks to having a Tok'ra symbiote. 'Shame... maybe I could borrow you every six months for a tune-up.' Jack meant it in jest, expecting an indulgent, long-suffering retort, but instead there was only pointed silence.  
  
'Aetom?'  
  
–Yes?–  
  
Jack picked up the scattered items around the tree in preparation to depart. He slung the canteen and food pouch over his shoulder, tucked the dangling ribbon device into his belt, and palmed the communication orb as he asked, 'What's with you? You've been moping since we killed Montu. Don't tell me you MISS that snake.'  
  
Aetom at once flared, emotions stirring from affected flatness at the remark, –Of course I don't.–  
  
Jack started off through woods, as he made his way cocking his head left and right, listening for signs of Jaffa, his hearing enhanced and acute to the point he could swear he'd hear a dog whistle if the Goa'uld slaves had one. He almost wished they did... that would just be cool. 'Well, we'll be off this rock and with the Tok'ra soon enough and you can find a new host; you HAVE to be happy about that, I know I am.'  
  
–I won't take that personally.–  
  
'Hey, lighten up.' Aetom did not respond, prompting Jack to quip, 'I'm not going to ask what crawled up your ass since technically you're the one who kinda crawled up mine, but seriously, the mood is starting to grate.'  
  
Aetom didn't reply and Jack frowned. Granted he hadn't been host to this symbiote for very long, a few weeks, but in that time he'd gotten to expect certain things from Aetom, one of which was answers to any question. Any time Jack asked something, even something personal, Aetom would answer without expecting the same courtesy in return.  
  
'Come on, I'm sorry, all right?' Jack tried, figuring hell had to have just frozen over for him to apologize to a snake.  
  
Aetom fumed darkly and Jack hastily amended, 'Didn't mean that, force of habit, I don't mind apologizing to a Tok'ra, but it WOULD be a cold day in hell before I apologized to a Goa'uld.'  
  
Aetom's mood, at last, seemed to brighten a little and Jack pushed his way through the brush, still waiting for Aetom to tell him what was wrong.  
  
When Aetom finally spoke, it brought Jack to a physical stand-still. –You scared me.–  
  
Jack stood stock-still, thrown. 'I what? Scared you? How'd I do that?'  
  
Aetom hesitated, reluctant to answer, but as always he finally spoke, –When we killed Montu... you were happy.–  
  
Jack rolled his eyes and took a second to look around for movement of enemy soldiers then began walking again as he answered, 'What, and you weren't? Damn right I was happy, that snake got what he deserved.'  
  
Aetom faltered, –You were not happy for him to die, you were happy to kill. There is a difference.–  
  
Jack slowed to a stop again, beginning to understand. 'Look, Aetom, I thought you knew me well enough to have figured that part out. I never said my mind was a pretty place, I've never even claimed to be a good guy; you'd have to jump into Daniel to find that.'  
  
Aetom returned, –You... are a contradiction.–  
  
'Am not.'  
  
Aetom, for the second time, reached into Jack's mind forcefully, drawing out two memories, presenting them juxtaposition for Jack to see. One was Special Forces, black ops Colonel O'Neill, raking a knife's edge through a man's throat on the leeward side of a desert dune in a Middle Eastern land, the other was Jack, Charlie's doting father, playing baseball with his son in the backyard and laughing.  
  
'Stop,' Jack spat, pushing both images aside harshly, quickly growing angered by the course of the conversation, 'listen, I know who and what I am. Maybe that little episode with Montu shocked the pants off of you, but it didn't surprise me. I've done some really awful things; I'm capable of doing even worse things, I know that, too.'  
  
–My fear was not for what you can do but for what causes you would commit such acts.–  
  
'Oh, for crying out loud, is that all? Well, I can tell you right here and now, so break out the pen and paper. My country, my friends, my planet... not necessarily in that order. Sometimes Daniel gets me to tack on the defense of humanity in any pigeon-hole of the universe we find, and sometimes Carter makes me do it for the advancement of science, but just me, Jack O'Neill, it's a short list. I'm a simple guy.'  
  
Aetom's answer felt like a smile as he said, –I can attest from personal experience that you are not a simple human, Jack. I was startled by what I felt from you when we killed Montu because it is against all that I had come to think of you.–  
  
'Oh yeah, and what's that?' Jack asked in irritation.  
  
Aetom moved away from the shadows he'd tucked into for two days, at once a disturbing but comforting presence, –That you are good.–  
  
Jack had no immediate response to that, which gave Aetom time to continue, –You are an incredibly irritating, stubborn, obstinate human being, but a good one despite your many faults.–  
  
Jack tried to think of a response, failed, then just blurted, 'Don't think you can sweet-talk your way into moving in permanently.'  
  
Aetom laughed and Jack smirked in reciprocation, sensing the Tok'ra's mirth even as the somber disposition began to melt away.  
  
–Rest assured, Colonel O'Neill, I would not want your company for the next hundred years.–  
  
'Aww... I'm not that bad,' Jack teased in a mocking tone.  
  
–You called me a tune-up.–  
  
Jack snorted, 'Well, it makes me a Buick, so we're even. Hey, Aetom?'  
  
–Yes?–  
  
'Since we've survived and everything, guess I should thank you for saving my life.'  
  
–No more than you saved mine, O'Neill. We worked well together.–  
  
'Yeah... guess we did.'


	13. Chapter 13

Selmac wove her way through the scurry and bustle of the Tok'ra tunnels, avoiding her fellow Tok'ra only most of the time. Crates and boxes were being stacked and shuffled around, their massive weight hitting the tunnel ground heavily and causing strange echoes throughout the crystal tunnels. When the Tok'ra decided it was time to move their base, even when the only impetus was having been in one place too long, there was an urgency and rush to their actions. The Tok'ra did not like to be in flux, clinging to a base of operations, no matter what planet on which it was located, like a child clinging to a security blanket.  
  
"Selmac," a reverberating voice called out, halting the Tok'ra in her tracks and she turned to face the direction of the address. Counselor Garshaw hurried to her, expression harried... Jacob wondered to his symbiote if the woman ever looked anything other than harried. Selmac had no response; even her memory was not that old.  
  
"Yes, Garshaw?" Selmac answered when the Tok'ra woman was at her side.  
  
Garshaw took her arm, primarily to be certain they were not jostled apart in the passageway by Tok'ra brushing by with boxes and containers. "Friend, we have just received word from the surface that Aetom has arrived on the planet. Would you please go up and meet him for me? I cannot be taken from my duties now."  
  
Selmac nodded, "It would be no trouble."  
  
Garshaw released her arm and nodded, "Thank you, Selmac, and please tell Aetom that his report on the destruction of the Goa'uld Montu will have to wait until the Tok'ra base has been established on the new planet... time simply cannot be spared at the moment though his words are important."  
  
Selmac nodded again, almost more of a bow, "He will understand the necessity, Garshaw, and I will meet him as you ask."  
  
Garshaw disappeared in the moving fray again, leaving Selmac to move toward the nearest ring transport alone. For both she and her host, the arrival of this Tok'ra brought disquiet. It was the mission against Montu that his information spurred, undertaken under his advisement, that had cost the lives of not merely Tok'ra but Tau'ri as well. Selmac could not calm to satisfaction the unhappiness that fact brought out in her host, Jacob Carter. Long into the night since learning of the tragedy they spoke of the ill-fated mission. Selmac tried to ease the anger and disappointment in Jacob, but the human was, within his own thoughts, inconsolable, incapable of being deterred from his furious displeasure. There was anger Selmac knew would have to fade with time. Jacob took the blow to the Tau'ri personally... and understandably so. Jacob had had Tau'ri friends among those slain against Montu, and in the aftermath his daughter was in pain. The last hit Jacob hardest of all, made him bitter and mad to see his child suffering.  
  
Selmac reached the transport rings but was made to stop to wait for a load of crates to be taken up before she was able to have her turn, then having to wait again to give the Tok'ra on the surface time to move the boxes out of the transport platform. Jacob was a roiling pit of discomforting thoughts in Selmac's mind. He was hesitant to meet Aetom face-to-face. The Tok'ra had been gone for a very long time; it was always awkward when an operative embedded among the Goa'uld for so long finally returned to the ranks, but it was especially unnerving to see the Tok'ra whose information (through no fault of his own) had been the reason so many good people had died.  
  
Selmac did her best to ease Jacob's worries. She knew Aetom from a time before the Tok'ra in question had left to infiltrate Montu's circle of advisors and could vouch for the symbiote's character. Selmac's reassurances, however, were more or less falling on deaf ears. Jacob himself had never met this Tok'ra, and he knew he would not be able to shake on first meeting the knowledge that he had accidentally led friends of Jacob's to their deaths.  
  
Selmac moved into the transport circle and nodded to a Tok'ra at the wall to the transport room and the heavy rush and mechanical hum of rings surrounded her, white light glaring. When next Selmac was able to see she was on the surface of the planet. Tok'ra near her looked up briefly but then returned to their duties, bent to their work. Selmac turned and walked over the sand in the direction of the Chappa'ai.  
  
The sounds of the packing and moving Tok'ra were a muffled buzz in the distance when Jacob first saw a lone figure moving across the dunes from the direction of the stargate. There was an odd familiarity with the easy posture and movements adopted by the lanky form as it trudged toward Jacob, hands tucked into the folds of clearly Goa'uld clothing as though improvising pockets. When the shape grew closer, slowly but steadily, the gray hair sparked recognition, face coming into range and proving impossibly familiar.  
  
Selmac backed away from her suddenly surging host, unable to have remained in control without resorting to commandeering actions, preferring to simply take a backseat without protest as she was rudely shoved aside by a stunned Jacob Carter.  
  
"Jack?!"  
  
Jack O'Neill sauntered up to Jacob. One of his hands pulled out of the green shirt folds to wave once, "Hi, Jacob."  
  
Jacob gaped, stared. Jack came to a stop in front of Jacob and cant his head slightly to one side, squinting in the midday sun with cavalier ease, strange smirk playing over his lips as he watched Jacob's expression.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Jacob blurted.  
  
Jack shrugged mischievously as brown eyes scanned once over the waves of sand that comprised the current Tok'ra base world, "Thought I'd drop in, see how things were going; love what you guys have done with the place."  
  
"But... you're supposed to be dead."  
  
"Ahh... yes, well, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."  
  
Jacob's shock was dissipating, quickly replaced with demanding curiosity, "Jack, what happened? We were told you died three weeks ago in the fight against Montu."  
  
Jack's teasing smirk at last faded and his expression grew serious, "That's kind of a long story; you mind if we talk about it somewhere else, though? And PLEASE, give me something else to wear that won't make me seasick."  
  
Jacob began flatly, "I'm supposed to be greeting.." then he trailed off, suspicions leaping through his mind and apparently evident by the look on his face.  
  
Jack tapped his temple with one finger and gave another shrug, "Like I said, long story."  
  
"You mean... you have a Tok'ra symbiote?"  
  
Jack barely nodded then his eyes glazed, seemingly a million miles away as he was momentarily caught up in an internal dialogue, then abruptly his attention melted back to focus on Jacob, "That's pretty much the abridged version, yeah. And before you think I've sustained brain damage, no, I didn't sign up for this." His eyes lost focus again, only briefly, then snapped back to Jacob's face, "But I did consent to it eventually," he held up a finger for emphasis, making his next point paramount, "under very explicitly understood conditions." Jack's eyes dropped to his feet, frown creasing lines in his brow, then he sighed, "Look, ah... Aetom wants to talk to you, so... um... ahh, for crying out loud," he took a relenting breath, closed his eyes, and when his head tilted up again his mannerisms were off-center for Jack O'Neill. Not to mention the timber of his voice when he spoke, distinctly inhuman.  
  
"Jacob Carter... Colonel O'Neill has told me of you. I understand you are now host to Selmac. I am honored to meet you."  
  
"Sure.." Jacob muttered, still preoccupied with seeing Jack O'Neill speaking and moving like a Tok'ra, getting the distinct feeling he was looking at an oddity of nature, a two-headed piglet preserved in a jar.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill is correct that I initially took him as a host against his wishes; had I not we both would have died. He agreed to assist me in destroying Montu with the understanding that I would find a new host as soon as possible so that he may return to the Tau'ri. I must speak immediately with the council about procuring a new host."  
  
Jacob felt like he used to when his wife was poking him repeatedly in the ribs for attention and finally had to acknowledge Selmac, reluctant to step back from what was unfolding before him but under duress acquiescing to Selmac's vie for control. He closed his eyes and stepped away, Selmac in command of his voice and body when his eyes reopened.  
  
"It is good to see you again, Aetom."  
  
"And you, old friend, it has been far too long when neither knows the other's face."  
  
Selmac motioned for Aetom to follow her toward the Tok'ra base, the latter falling into unhurried step beside Selmac. "Finding you a new host will not be immediately possible, I'm afraid. We are in the middle of relocating to a new base."  
  
Aetom was quiet a moment then said, "Colonel O'Neill is not pleased to hear that."  
  
Selmac nodded, "From what I know of Colonel O'Neill I can imagine his response to such news. I am sorry to ask him to remain a host beyond the private arrangement made between the two of you, and I am very sorry that you must stay in an unwilling host, my friend."  
  
Frowning, Aetom looked out over the desert, in conference with his host, then looked back at the trail they walked as he answered, "We are both willing to remain blended a short time longer."  
  
"Colonel O'Neill has consented to the delay so readily?"  
  
Aetom gave a small smile, "We have learned in our time together to tolerate one another with a minimal amount of discord. Tell me, where will the Tok'ra go?"  
  
"A small moon in the Pelnami system. It is in fact only a temporary settlement before we have chosen a secure location on the planet itself to build our tunnels. The moon does not possess a Chappa'ai... I regret to tell you that your host will not be immediately able to contact his people; I know that will be a prime concern for Colonel O'Neill."  
  
Aetom nodded grimly, "It is, and in fact he has already asked a number of times since our arrival to communicate with the Tau'ri." Aetom went quiet, expression intense and inwardly turned, then he sighed, "If there is nothing to be done then that is how it is. Tell us what we might do to help."  
  
Selmac touched Aetom's shoulder, "There is much to do, and the sooner it can be done the nearer the time you and your host might find peace. Come, help the others and myself load the tel'tacs."


	14. Chapter 14

Jacob lost sight of Jack shortly after returning to the Tok'ra base. The wayward Air Force officer folded into the teeming tide of the shipping and moving of personnel and materiel and Jacob soon lost track of him. Jacob had looked for the colonel when he and Selmac could spare the time, but the truth was that those searches consisted mostly of quick looks around between tasks. Jacob's inclination was to stick close to Jack, reluctant to leave him adrift in the mass of Tok'ra with no idea of what he should be doing. Selmac had to point out that while Colonel O'Neill might not know what to do, Aetom would. In any instance, Jack would not be wandering the Tok'ra tunnels like a lost puppy; he'd be helping just as every able body of the Tok'ra force was, guided by his own knowledgeable Tok'ra companion. Still, Jacob didn't let that logic stop him from trying to catch sight of the fellow Earth native as he worked, to no avail.  
  
Jacob did not see Jack O'Neill again until the following day, when all the crates and boxes were stowed on their small fleet of tel'tacs and Tok'ra were beginning to abandon the tunnel network and board ships for the trip. Jacob walked into one of the open rooms of the underground caverns to find Jack O'Neill standing before a mirror, considering himself. He was dressed in the simple tan clothes of the Tok'ra. Though it should have been ridiculous to see Jack O'Neill, of all people, dressed like a Tok'ra the gray-haired colonel didn't look half bad in the brown shirt and pants. It was a change to see him in anything other than olive green or Air Force blue, sparing that garish ensemble he'd shown up in yesterday. Colonel O'Neill, it turned out as he stood there in Tok'ra clothes, could carry the style quiet well.  
  
"Nice threads," Jacob quipped, knowing that even if Jack was sporting the tan and beige with grace the colonel probably wouldn't approve.  
  
Jack turned to Jacob, looked down at his attire, and returned, "I rather like them myself." There was a distinct lack of flippancy in Jack's tone.  
  
"Really?"  
  
Jack's answer was quick, "Hey, after the king of seaweed green even the Tok'ra fashion statement is a sight for sore eyes. We going? Aetom said I've been dallying."  
  
Jacob shook his head, thrown to hear Jack mention so casually his symbiote, "Yes, we're going. The last of us will board the tel'tacs then the tunnels will be destroyed. We should only be stuck on this moon we're heading to for a couple of days, a last chance for Tok'ra scouts to verify there are no pockets of Goa'uld presence on the planet before we move in and set up shop, and the planet itself has a stargate so you can be sent home... after the Tok'ra have found a new host for Aetom."  
  
Jack nodded. He then sighed as he left the hollow room and moved through the conspicuously empty blue corridors alongside Jacob. "It's one thing after another," Jack grumbled, almost to himself.  
  
Jacob looked toward Jack, "You mean not getting the Tok'ra taken out of you right away?"  
  
Jack nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck in distraction before turning his head to look directly at the older man, "Jacob, can you tell me if my team made it out all right?" To Jacob's momentary look Jack continued, "I was getting fitted for my halo and wings, or pitchfork and horns if you prefer, when the survivors of the SGC pulled out of P78-294 and Aetom wasn't in a position to see much more than I did. So is my team all right?"  
  
Jacob saw deep concern in Jack's eyes, recognized the worry of a good leader (as Jack had proved himself to be time and again), and the former general finally answered, "They all made it out alive. Sam and Daniel were injured, Daniel pretty badly, but they're all okay now."  
  
Jack visibly relaxed, relief smoothing the lines of his face and for the immediate moment even having a symbiote wrapped around his nervous system didn't seem to bother him.  
  
"Actually, they're back on active rotation."  
  
Jack made a curious sound in the back of his throat, asking without looking toward Jacob but still the strings of tension and edginess evident in his tone, "Did they get split up and assigned to other teams?"  
  
"No... they reassigned someone to fill the vacant spot on the team and Sam was given command of SG-1."  
  
"Really? Good."  
  
"I thought George made the right call, too. Granted I'm biased, but I thought Sam was ready for command."  
  
"I've seen her in the field, I know she is. In fact, she might not want to give the reins back when I get home," Jack smiled.  
  
Jacob chuckled, "Trust me, Jack, you step through that gate and she'll be throwing the team back at you, and maybe herself too, so I better not hear about anything untoward." Jacob grinned and even Jack smiled, if not with a hint of uneasiness in the presence of the major in question's father. Jacob sobered to say earnestly, "They all took your death pretty hard."  
  
Jack never gave a response to the last comment, and before Jacob could make any remark on his pointed silence they reached the ring room and the subject was dropped. Jacob knew, without having to be told... SG-1 was more than a group of colleagues or even friends, they were more like family members. It was something a commanding officer would never admit to a superior officer, and Jacob allowed the colonel to think his secret was still that... a secret.  
  
Jacob was just relieved that Jack was alive. This would get a smile back on Sam's face, and for this instance he wasn't going to be concerned what that might mean beneath the surface as long as his little girl would smile again.


	15. Chapter 15

Major Carter stood in her kitchen, leaning with hip against the counter, beer in hand, watching her teammates gathered in the dining room within her line of sight. Daniel was propped on the back of her sofa, bottle of beer held between his legs, facing the table at which sat Megan and Teal'c. Captain Rawlins was decidedly tipsy... at last, someone on SG-1 who was worse at holding their liquor than Daniel. The thought brought a small smile to Sam's face as she hung back, in no hurry to return to the group, content to watch from a distance the way they played off one another, the give and take, the places one would bend to the others and the places that same person would stone-wall.  
  
They weren't SG-1 the way they'd been SG-1 with Colonel O'Neill in command, but they were nonetheless becoming a team. Rawlins was making her place, holding her own in what might have been seen as a very cliquey group, and for that she deserved credit. She was also a fine officer, a woman who thought on her feet.  
  
Colonel O'Neill would have liked her.  
  
Sam frowned at the unbidden thought. She set her half-empty bottle down the counter top and pushed off the cabinets then walked toward her kitchen window with arms crossed, out of sight of the rest of the team. Just when she thought she was moving on, letting go, unguarded thoughts of her former CO would jump into her mind. So many times adjusting to her new status as team leader she'd longed for his advice, someone to talk to who had been in the same position once that she was in now. Not having his guidance to turn to, depend on, felt like going away to college, standing amid a small collection of boxes stacked in a barren dorm room holding all your possessions, feeling cast adrift in a tempest-stricken sea, and watching your parent get in the car and drive away.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam turned at the sound of Daniel's voice to find him standing in the entryway to her kitchen, watching her gently. "Everything okay?"  
  
Sam gave him a crooked smile, one that said 'aside from the things that are obviously not okay?', and nodded, "Fine."  
  
Daniel stepped further into the kitchen, tucking his arms across his chest and moving to stand behind her shoulder, waiting for her to let it out.  
  
Before she had been the one in charge, the leader, she might have turned and accepted his hug, shown him her misgivings, but when she had to consider tomorrow when she would be asked to give Daniel orders, tell him what to do and sometimes tell him he couldn't do what he wanted... it made things different. She couldn't be open with her friend the way she once was; it made command decisions in the field too hard. And always Sam felt like she should apologize to Daniel for that, explain to him it wasn't something he did wrong, but the blessing that was Daniel Jackson was that Daniel seemed to know without being told. He could see in her face, with just a glance, that the shift into a more aloof demeanor meant nothing had changed in their friendship, only their working relationship.  
  
Daniel had become a man of looks to share private jokes, proximity to stand in place of touches that might have comforted, and with a jolt of clarity Sam saw Daniel the way Colonel O'Neill must have seen him. It took being the commanding officer herself for Sam to at last really understand the strange, polar friendship between the military colonel and brainy archaeologist. Daniel could adapt to cling to friendships, adjusting form and function rather than abandon a bond.  
  
Few times had Sam been more amazed than now by the way Daniel was with people, the trust he could engender simply by being himself. She gave him a smile and Daniel's expression in return exuded understanding, completely and without judgment.  
  
"Major?" Megan came into the kitchen. She snagged the wall with one hand and swung the last portion of her entrance as she asked in a voice slighly slurred, "do you have any more beer?"  
  
Sam smirked, cast Daniel an amused look, then said authoritatively, "I think you've had quite enough, Captain."  
  
Megan frowned and her lips pursed, perturbed but not too far gone to make the mistake of arguing with her commanding officer. She did, however, manage a hang-dog look that had to have been a page taken from Daniel's book.  
  
Sam shook her head, fond exasperation replacing her earlier dour mood.  
  
It wasn't SG-1 the way Sam would always think of it, but this team wasn't bad. With a little seasoning, time to learn how they best worked together as an integrated unit, they might even be pretty damned good.


	16. Chapter 16

'I don't believe you,' Jack O'Neill stated flatly to the being in his head as he sat on the floor with back propped against the wall. He was currently bouncing the Goa'uld communication orb in his hand against the opposite wall, the metallic sphere eliciting a high-pitched 'ping' sound as it hit the blue crystal wall then to the floor before returning to Jack's hand. The Tok'ra had established a very thrown-together, cramped temporary tunnel system on the moon in the Pelnami system and its small confines were about to give Jack cabin fever. Unfortunately, a walk to clear his head was out of the question... the atmosphere on the moon's surface was unbreathable, effectively trapping anyone unless they wanted to ring out of the tunnels and up to a tel'tac. Jack had given up hoping for that when he was flatly told he could not take a tel'tac out for a spin.  
  
–Your bodies are not that fascinating to us, Jack, you'll just have to trust me on this.–  
  
Jack bounced the orb off the wall again, caught it, and tossed once more in a pattern, one that had held for at least an hour already. 'But come on... you're telling me if you jumped into the hottest woman in the world you wouldn't? Not even if the host was fine with you checking her out, doing a little... exploration?'  
  
–No, and I find the assumption the Tok'ra would be so perverse insulting.– Jack smirked congenially, because despite Aetom's words he did not sense indignation from the symbiote.  
  
Jack launched the orb again toward the far wall, producing the vibrating 'ping-ping' that had begun to form a sing-song rhythm. 'Nothing perverse about it, Aetom, the human form is a beautiful thing.'  
  
Aetom rolled his eyes, –Then why have you not asked if I have ever fondled the bodies of my male hosts?–  
  
Jack's toss-catch-toss rhythm faltered before resuming, tinted with the mirth of Aetom's reaction to his host's stutter. 'That's sick, Aetom, and if you do have this little fetish it's not something I want to know about.'  
  
–You need not be concerned, Colonel O'Neill, I have never 'checked you out'.–  
  
'What, like there's something wrong with me?'  
  
Aetom smiled, –You continue to assume that I am male.–  
  
Jack stopped again, 'You mean you're not? I mean, I thought sna...symbiotes had that whole genderless thing going.'  
  
–Biologically, yes, but often symbiotes, both Goa'uld and Tok'ra, develop a preference for the gender of their hosts. After enough time in the bodies of one sex, a symbiote can take on psychological traits of that gender, even identify themselves by the label of male or female.–  
  
'Yeah... but... so you're not a guy?'  
  
Aetom was enjoying himself, blatantly teasing, –I did not say that, but I might not be.–  
  
Jack tossed the ball against the wall again, beginning to sense Aetom was playing with him, 'Well, if you were a chick then I would really want to know why I hadn't been violated. I'm not that bad looking, you know, in fact some might call me distinguished.'  
  
–I believe that is a Tau'ri way of saying aged.–  
  
'Watch yourself, pal.'  
  
Aetom chuckled.  
  
'So... seriously. You've never been in a woman and just, you know...'  
  
–O'Neill, you are a different species from my own, and while a Tok'ra may admire the strengths of your mind your bodies are not attractive to us. It would be like you finding the body of a female Unas sexually appealing.–  
  
Jack grimaced at the notion, recalling the scaly green monsters that Daniel had such an affinity for.  
  
Aetom, intentionally turning Jack's earlier words against him, taunted, –I am certain the male Unas find their females quite beautiful.–  
  
Smiling, Jack threw the ball against the wall again. His eyes darted up to the figure moving into the room as he caught the orb on the rebound. Jacob stood looking down at Jack, first hints of a questioning smirk on his face. "What are you smiling about?"  
  
Jack lifted two fingers away from the communication orb in his hand and waved abstractly at his head, "Aetom; what's up, Dad?"  
  
Jacob shook his head, watching Jack throw the orb against the wall again. "That's not what those are for, you do know that, don't you, Jack?"  
  
Jack turned the orb over in his hand, fingers brushing over the scratches and pock marks his handling had put into the sphere which had been smooth and unmarred days ago. "Aetom said the Tok'ra don't use them. Anyway, I'm bored out of my skull," then he stopped to smile again at himself.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
Jack waved it off, "Aetom just conjured up a strange mental image for that saying. So, stop by to play catch?" His tone was hopeful, almost childlike, as he brandished the communication orb.  
  
Jacob snorted, "No, I didn't. Heard you talked to the council today."  
  
Jack, pouting, turned back to throwing the orb against the wall, "Yep... well, Aetom did. Still peeved they wouldn't let me make a recording for General Hammond... now I'm going to have to sit through the same debriefing AGAIN."  
  
Jacob took a step further into the room, watching the communication orb fly against the wall then bounce back into Jack's hand. "I came to tell you good news and bad news, which would you like first?"  
  
Jack paused, thinking, then said, "Bad first."  
  
"Okay... the Tok'ra don't have a new host for Aetom yet."  
  
"Oooh, Jacob!"  
  
Jacob held up his hands, "It's not my doing, Jack, hosts are always scarce. It just might take a little while."  
  
Jack sighed, gloomy, "Well, what's the good news?"  
  
Jacob walked over to the wall opposite Jack and sat down on the floor facing the colonel. Jack's eyes lit up, a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, and he tossed the orb toward Jacob. Jacob caught the metal ball and looked down at it. He shook his head as he studied the advanced technology scuffed and scratched like a dime-store baseball under the idle colonel's care, then threw it back to Jack. "The good news, the surveillance of the planet hasn't turned up any sign of Goa'uld so you could get to send a message back to Earth as early as tomorrow."  
  
"Sweet."  
  
Jacob and Jack tossed the orb back and forth in silence a few moments before Jacob spoke, "How you doing with the whole symbiote thing?"  
  
Jack gave a half shrug.  
  
"Come on, Jack, I know what you think of Tok'ra symbiosis, in fact I think every Tok'ra and Goa'uld in the universe does. I'm surprised you haven't asked us to cut your head off yet."  
  
Jack smirked, pensive a moment as he tossed the orb to Jacob, then sighed, "It's a lot like junior officers' quarters, I guess. You set a few ground rules with you roommate to get him to stop leaving his underwear on the lamp shade and his half-eaten liverwurst sandwich on the desk for a week," Jack suddenly made a twisted face, causing Jacob to stop a moment, but without explanation Jack's sour expression vanished and he held out his hands for the orb. Jacob assumed another peculiar exchange between Jack and Aetom, either that or Jack wasn't taking to the Tok'ra diet well.  
  
Jack commented casually, "I guess it's not as bad as I thought it was, and Aetom's a pretty decent Tok'ra to have stuck in your brain... but that doesn't mean I want to have him hanging around indefinitely."  
  
Jacob nodded, knowing Jack's opinion was fair enough given the circumstances, "Coming from you, I think Aetom should be flattered."  
  
Jack smiled oddly, "He is... Aetom is a 'he', right?"  
  
Jacob frowned at the question, "He's always taken male hosts, why?"  
  
Jack shook his head, "No reason, just settling an argument."  
  
Companionable silence lapsed again, the orb continuing its lazy arch from human to human, this time interrupted by Jack suddenly speaking. "Jacob?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Is there any reason I can't go home tomorrow?"  
  
Jacob cocked his head faintly, "What do you mean?"  
  
"Instead of just sending a message back to Earth, can't I just go? I could come back when they've found a new host for Aetom."  
  
Jacob smirked, "Aren't having fun at Tok'ra camp?"  
  
Jack rolled his eyes, "You could put it that way. I don't know how you stand the monotony, not to mention some of the company. You know, some of the Tok'ra here could really use a weekend in Maui."  
  
Jacob smiled, "Well, if you wanted to go on Tok'ra missions I think you'd find the lifestyle much more interesting."  
  
For a second Jack perked up, like he might be considering work as a Tok'ra secret agent, then he simmered, "All due respect, sir, I'd just rather sleep in my own bed and have some pizza and a couple of beers. You can keep your Tok'ra Bond stuff."  
  
Jacob chuckled but was inwardly finding the inclination to relent to Jack's request. When Jack remembered he'd been a general, treated him like a superior officer, he really wanted whatever it was he was asking for, even going to the extreme lengths (for Colonel O'Neill) of being respectful.  
  
"I'll have to see what the council says about that, they might have some reason for not wanting Aetom idling away on our primitive little planet wasting his skills, but if you can persuade your symbiote you'd probably have a good chance of convincing the council. After a mission as long as Aetom's the council is usually pretty lenient to a Tok'ra's request."  
  
Jack nodded, gaze seeming to phase out of his immediate surroundings, and Jacob left him in silence, mechanically throwing the communication orb back and forth with the spaced out Air Force colonel while Jack and Aetom obviously discussed the matter.


	17. Chapter 17

General Hammond descended the stairs from his office into the control room of Stargate Command with fast half-steps. He strode at once toward the control station amidst the bustle and activity of personnel elicited by an unscheduled arrival. Through the large bay windows of the control room the stargate was straining with blue light, its energy inhibited by the trinnium iris locked tight over the aperture.  
  
"Anything, Sergeant?" Hammond asked as he came up behind the shoulder of the seated technician.  
  
"Receiving IDC transmission now, sir... it's the Tok'ra."  
  
Hammond nodded, "Open the iris," and turned to head the visitor off at the ramp. While improving, relations with the Tok'ra within the SGC was still a touchy subject. Officially, of course, there was no dissension to speak of between the two allies, but on a personal level there was still a tense unease, distrust that would have to mend as wounds healed.  
  
As Hammond strode into the embarkation room, giving the armed airmen against the back wall a curt order to stand down, the luminous event horizon of the wormhole was freed to flood its shimmering light into the room as the iris retracted and drew back from the opening.  
  
Hammond stopped at the foot of the ramp and waited, mentally steeling himself for the always arduous task of diplomacy, secretly hoping the Tok'ra guest would be Jacob Carter. With Jacob Carter Hammond could be entirely honest, free with his opinions without fear because Jacob was a fellow Earther, Air Force officer, and a friend. He also hoped for Jacob's form to step through the stargate because he was the one Tok'ra whose arrival did not set the base shifting suspiciously at its fringes.  
  
The event horizon rippled and then spit forth a tan-clad figure, the silence of the large room at once dashed by footfalls on the metal ramp.  
  
Hammond's stoic composure left him as he blinked up at the man moving toward him.  
  
"General Hammond, it's good to see you again, sir," Jack offered sincerely as the wormhole behind him blinked out, leaving the room all the darker but for once no less fantastical than it had been moments before.  
  
Jack O'Neill walked easily down to stand facing General Hammond, alive and well, an impressive feat for a dead man.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill?"  
  
Jack partially smiled and allowed a second of nostalgia to look toward the control room then at the standing and gaping airmen with rifles gripped loosely in their hands, staring at the colonel returned from the dead.  
  
Jack turned his gaze back to General Hammond, clearly waiting for his commanding officer to say something.  
  
Hammond faintly shook his head, "Colonel, it's damn good to see you, too, but would you care to explain exactly what in the hell is going on? We were all led to believe you were killed a month ago on P78-294."  
  
Jack's smile was the gentle smirk he spared only to his friends, "You have a couple of hours, General, because this is going to be a long debriefing."

* * *

Daniel caught sight of his team at the end of the hallway and started to jog, dodging errant SGC personnel as he called out, "Hey, guys, wait up!"  
  
Sam, Teal'c, and Megan slowed and turned back to watch their wayward teammate hurry toward them. Daniel came to a stop beside Megan, sucking in a breath and pushing his glasses further up his nose, back into their proper position after having been jarred loose when he broke into a run through the hall. "So, does anyone have any idea what this is about?" Daniel asked, only slightly winded from his impromptu sprint.  
  
"We know as much as you, DanielJackson," Teal'c answered as he fell into step beside Sam as the foursome started walking together.  
  
"Has to be a reason General Hammond's called us all to the briefing room," Sam pointed out, simultaneously dreadful and excited to imagine what could be the reason for their summons. Perhaps they were being assigned a mission. Sam's position of command was still new enough that each prospective mission brought a hybridization of anticipation and fear.  
  
The team trudged toward the familiar meeting room, each mind buzzing with its own speculations. Every one of which was shattered when the entire team marched into the briefing room and instantly came to a stop just inside the room barely a foot from the door.  
  
They immediately saw General Hammond at the far end of the table, turned to speak with the man seated to his right. SG-1 at a glance could place the brown and tan of Tok'ra apparel, each jumping to judgments the moment those telling details registered. When he heard them enter, the Tok'ra turned his head to face SG-1, and as abruptly as that the team found themselves looking into the face of Jack O'Neill.  
  
Stunned silence reigned, expressions bewildered; it was Jack who spoke first. He turned his chair to more completely face his friends and offered a childish smile, "Hi, kids. Miss me?"  
  
"Jack?" Sam could hear Daniel's voice from somewhere behind her but there was a detached, distant quality to it as she stared at her believed- killed in action CO, parts of her brain grinding to a halt as others spun and reeled wildly.  
  
Jack pushed away from the table and stood to face his team, little in his posture telegraphing or outright suggesting but lending an air of waiting to the gray-haired officer all the same. He was standing there expectantly, watching the recent arrivals to the briefing room for their reception of him.  
  
All Sam could coherently think in the next moment was 'thank God for Daniel'. While the others stood, gawking like goldfish, Daniel broke from the ranks of his rooted companions, brushing past Sam's shoulder in the process, and crossed the room toward Jack in eager strides. As he drew near, Jack smiled, seeming all the more real with every passing second.  
  
"Jack!" Daniel yelped when he was inches from his friend and enveloped the colonel in a hug before the older man could put up any protest. Chuckling, Jack clapped Daniel on the back as he asked, "Been staying out of trouble, Danny? And if you say you have I know you're lying." He gave the archaeologist another firm pat on the back, clear body-language that the two should part.  
  
Daniel wouldn't let go just yet, still hugging Jack, enough for the colonel's smile to falter a little and his eyes to dart in the seated general's direction. General Hammond was merely smiling, a fond, paternal expression etched into the lines of his face.  
  
Daniel was mumbling, "We thought you were dead, we left you.."  
  
Jack cleared his throat, "Hey, don't sweat it, Daniel, I know I looked bad last time any of you saw me."  
  
Daniel finally let go his bear-hug hold of Jack and stepped back. The younger man blinked at the colonel and then, suddenly, smiled. It was the kind of face-engulfing grin that Daniel dispensed very rarely, and Jack had to smile back to have rated such a Daniel-smile.  
  
"Colonel," Sam's voice shattered the two men's concentration as they broke apart to both look toward Sam. She had at last found her motor control, left her spot near the door, and was moving toward the returned SG-1 leader. Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, unshed now and in front of the others unshed always, but the swelling elation put a pink flush to her face.  
  
"Carter," Jack nodded professionally. His warm brown eyes sparked when Sam apparently made an instant resolution within herself and started toward Jack, clearly not about to stop until her body was halted by his. Sam's smile was brilliant as she stepped in close and began to put her arms around Jack's neck. No sooner had her arms come around him than they fell away, the major's expression going from happy to deeply troubled as she took an immediate step back. Jack was still waiting to put his arms around her in return, watching her back away from him in confusion. As she moved away, an obvious retreat, Sam unconsciously reached out and snagged Daniel's arm, pulling him a distance away from Jack.  
  
"Major?" General Hammond's voice.  
  
Sam watched Jack like he was part stranger, never taking her eyes away from him as she answered, "I sense a symbiote in him, sir."  
  
Jack's disappointment at not getting a hug from Carter took a backseat to his realization of her concern. He quickly assured, "It's one of the good guys, Carter. What, the clothes weren't a dead give-away?"  
  
Daniel and Sam blinked at Jack again, processing what he could mean, but this time it was Teal'c to break the silence, "ColonelO'Neill, are you implying that you have become the host of a Tok'ra?"  
  
"You make it sound so permanent, but essentially, and only for the moment, yeah."  
  
Sam found her eyes cutting to Hammond searchingly.  
  
Hammond nodded, "It's all right, Major. Jack's been filling me in on the details; I'm aware of the Tok'ra inside him."  
  
Jack's voice had lost some of the vitality and energy it had gained during the reunion as he explained, "His name is Aetom; you can all meet him later. For right now, I was just telling General Hammond about what happened on P78-294 after our forces pulled out from the original mission against Montu."  
  
"SG-1, please, have a seat," Hammond gestured to the empty chairs.  
  
SG-1 mutely did as bade, eyes transfixed on Jack, warring between joyful and uncertain. Sam moved around the table to sit opposite Jack at Hammond's left, still unknowingly dragging Daniel with her, clearly protective whether she noticed her behavior or not. For that matter, Daniel didn't seem to notice Sam's actions, instead merely let her keep him by her side without a second thought. Teal'c moved to claim the seat beside Colonel O'Neill, taking a moment to clasp arms with the man in warm greeting before bowing his head and sitting. Megan hung back, looking like she was starting to get the 'fifth wheel' feeling.  
  
Jack addressed her, "Captain Rawlins, right?"  
  
Megan nodded, "Yes, sir."  
  
"General Carter told me about a new person being assigned to fill out SG-1. I hope they've been playing nice."  
  
Megan gave a brittle, uneasy smirk, "Yes, sir," then flickered an unintentionally seeking look toward her team leader. Sam gave her a small but confident, reassuring smile.  
  
Hammond urged them both, "Please, have a seat. Colonel, if you would start over from the beginning?"  
  
Jack looked at the people seated around the table before sitting back down himself. He rolled the chair up to the table and rested his forearms on the desk top. "The cliff's notes version, none of you were far off assuming I was killed on P78-294, I damn near did die, but my symbiote's previous host had also been wounded in the fight, beyond Aetom's ability to heal him, so he jumped into me. All I remember was waking up with a sn..symbiote in my head."  
  
Sam ventured, "He took you unwillingly?"  
  
"At first, yes, but it was under extenuating circumstances. Not entirely unlike the conditions that led to your being a host to Jolinar." Jack locked eyes with Sam for a moment, something intensely private and a little uncomfortable passing between them.  
  
Hammond stated the obvious to recapture the train of thought, "The Tok'ra symbiote was able to heal the injuries Colonel O'Neill had sustained during the battle."  
  
Jack nodded, "After that he and I struck up a bargain. I'd help him kill Montu– which we did, by the way, kicked some major Goa'uld ass– if he agreed to take me immediately afterwards to the Tok'ra base where he'd find a new host and I could come back to Earth."  
  
Daniel leaned forward, "Well, something must have fallen through with that plan if you're here with the Tok'ra still inside of you."  
  
The corners of Jack's mouth tugged down in a faint frown, acknowledgement of Daniel's correct assessment of the situation, "The Tok'ra are looking for a new host as we speak, but.."  
  
"But hosts are hard to come by," Sam provided in understanding.  
  
Jack nodded and scratched at the back of his neck before continuing, "We were able to talk the Tok'ra council into letting us spend our time waiting around for a new host on Earth instead of with the Tok'ra, with the general's permission, of course."  
  
"We..." Daniel prompted.  
  
Jack blinked, "Me and Aetom."  
  
"The Tok'ra that took you as a host."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Hammond said, "I see no reason to disallow it, however, I'll expect you to remain on the base for no less than forty-eight hours just as a precaution and you're to submit to a complete physical from Doctor Fraiser."  
  
Jack opened his mouth to argue, most likely to try to whine and cajole his way out of a visit to the doctor, but he seemed to skip to another thought mid-action, making him pause then settle back into his seat without uttering a sound of protest.  
  
"Sir..." Sam ventured toward the colonel, hesitating when Jack looked up at her, "correct me if I'm wrong, but... don't the Tok'ra possess stasis chambers capable of sustaining a Tok'ra symbiote outside of a host until one can be found?"  
  
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat, expression torn, "Yes... and don't think I didn't consider that, but... well, fact is that from the symbiote's point of view the stasis chamber is a lot like solitary confinement; nothing fatal but nothing pleasant. We're holding that option as a last resort, but we both hope it won't come to that."  
  
"From what Colonel O'Neill has told me," Hammond said, "he and the symbiote Aetom have established a truce and agreed to share the colonel's body until conditions allow for other options."  
  
Everyone blinked at Jack, no doubt finding it hard to believe he would permit a symbiote to remain in him any length of time longer than absolutely necessary. Jack's loathsome opinion of symbiosis was legendary at the SGC. Jack's lips pinched but he said nothing. He dropped his eyes to his hands where they rested atop the table with fingers entwined. He blinked heavily.  
  
Jack's head came up and an instant shudder of unease went through the three at the table who knew Jack's subtle body language as well as they knew their own. They three were already exchanging unsettled, even nervous glances, when the Tok'ra's voice intoned, "Colonel O'Neill has honored our agreement beyond the original terms and for that I am grateful. I assure you that if he asked me to leave now I would do so by any means, at any risk to myself."  
  
Hammond leaned back in his chair, trying to seem nonplussed, "Aetom, I presume?"  
  
Aetom, in Jack's skin, turned brown eyes with a familiar color but foreign soul toward General Hammond. Jack's lips were smiling thinly in a way no one at the table had ever seen that face smile, "Yes, General Hammond. It is a pleasure to meet you at last; Colonel O'Neill has expressed to me his respect for you on a number of occasions."  
  
"Did, ah... did he just give you permission to..." Hammond gave an nondescript motion toward Jack/Aetom with his hand.  
  
Aetom didn't seem to understand, momentarily becoming introspective, then he broke into a humoring smile, "Yes... we must apologize for not giving forewarning. After so much time undercover together then among the Tok'ra where the change between host and symbiote is not distressing we never adopted the habit of giving those around us explicit indication that we were going to switch control. If you find the situation too disconcerting you may speak with Colonel O'Neill again."  
  
"No, that's all right," Hammond returned to his place at the table, "it was just a little unexpected."  
  
Aetom nodded, "Of course. Again, my apologies. In the future we shall make a point of saying when I am about to speak."  
  
Hammond took a moment to look at each member of SG-1 in turn, noting their reactions to Jack's change in personality, before saying to Aetom, "If you are the reason Jack O'Neill is alive and sitting here now then we owe you a debt of thanks."  
  
Aetom cant his head in acknowledgement, "Colonel O'Neill saved my life as much as I his. While I very much wished to meet each of you, for there are very strong memories in O'Neill's mind of you all, I asserted myself so that I might express my condolences for the Tau'ri who were lost on... P78-294. They as well as my Tok'ra brethren were sent into battle because I grossly misjudged the situation. Though I did not know of Montu's cache of Jaffa on the planet, I feel responsible for the deaths incurred by their hands."  
  
Hammond looked toward Rawlins then slowly answered, "Thank you, Aetom... it was a difficult loss for all of us."  
  
"Yes," Aetom's voice dipped lower gloomily, hands perfectly still atop the table.  
  
Hammond added, "A loss made less today by Colonel O'Neill's return thanks to you."  
  
Aetom lowered his face in a nod and his eyes gently closed. Jack's hands began to move and fidget on the table. His posture slouched marginally and his head cocked idly to one side in personal distraction when his eyes reopened. Sam, Teal'c, and Daniel were unknowingly holding their breaths.  
  
"Jack?" Daniel was the one from the original SG-1 to venture.  
  
Jack looked up from a half-turned face, "Yeah." His voice was his own, the familiar timber of the Air Force colonel. His hands suddenly stopped tracing shapes on the table top and he looked more directly at Daniel's wide-eyed expression. A playful smile began to lift Jack's face. "Sorry... guess we really do need to work on that. Don't worry, though... Aetom's agreed to keep pretty much on the back burner while we're on Earth. He had the floor most of the time on P78-294 so.." Jack shrugged. He shook off the pensive mood and openly watched those around him for a reaction. It was blatant 'wrap things up' Jack O'Neill mannerisms, his looks in Hammond's direction pointed and expectant.  
  
Hammond knew Jack's antsy movements as well as SG-1. "Very well. You're all dismissed, and Colonel, I want you to report to the infirmary at once."  
  
Jack hesitated only for a heartbeat before relenting, "Yes, sir."  
  
"Very well, then," Hammond gave a releasing nod and slowly everyone pushed away from the table, four in SGC fatigues and one in Tok'ra clothing. There was an uncomfortable hovering and watching over the table a moment, enough to plant the seed of worry in General Hammond, but as they all drifted toward the exits they also drifted together. Sam, whether consciously or not, gravitated to the place at Jack's side she had always taken, Daniel a step behind, positioned between them. Teal'c held back just enough to meaningfully keep Megan at his side, and as one they left the briefing room.  
  
General Hammond was still assimilating information, sorting facts, but for what he'd just seen he had to give a small smile of relief.­ 


	18. Chapter 18

Doctor Janet Fraiser's happiness at seeing Colonel O'Neill alive again, by the approach of her second hour doing a work-up on him as per General Hammond's orders, was starting to wane. Jack's near-death experience had done nothing to improve his behavior around doctors, not even for the amiable and much-adored Janet Fraiser. When he had first walked in she was all smiles and hugs; even learning of the Tok'ra symbiote that inhabited the colonel's body hadn't dampened her mood to see Jack again. Because he'd just come back from the dead from her perspective, Janet was willing to cut him a little slack when it came to his horrible patient tendencies. She let him use tongue depressors as drum sticks, even let him play with the stethoscope like a child at the pediatrician's.  
  
When he'd fiddled and tampered with one of her monitors enough to reset all the controls and leave her with an utterly scrambled piece of machinery Jack O'Neill was truly home... because Janet was giving him sharp looks, slapping his hands when they strayed from a foot-wide radius of his own body, and always the repetitive, 'Colonel, hold still'.  
  
Rescue came in the form of close friends. Sam and Daniel had been sniffing outside the infirmary door like alley dogs, their pacing and occasional knocks the last straw for the harried young doctor. Once the physical exam was over and Jack was decently dressed again Janet allowed them to come in while she finished the last of her tests.  
  
Daniel was a good distraction for at least fifteen minutes. He was weaving in and out of Janet's work zone like a bee dancing around a flower, bursting with questions and the rather adorable need to be able to touch Jack at a moment's notice. He even gave Jack a few playful punches in the arm which got a raised eyebrow from Janet, Sam, and Jack alike; Daniel was not a 'chuck on the arm' kind of person, but in this case it was an excuse to touch Jack and confirm he was back.  
  
When Jack, inevitably, grew tired of Daniel's endless list of questions Sam forestalled any hurtful explosions by stepping in. A month with him being the dearly departed didn't diminish Sam's ability to read Jack's mood, and when she saw his irritation start to spike at Daniel's exuberant behavior she calmly told the young man to go check up on Captain Rawlins, whom Teal'c had been keeping company as the recovery of a once-believed lost member of the original SG-1 sank in. Daniel had balked at first, standing at Jack's side defiantly, then without having to be told twice disappeared out into the hallway.  
  
Which left Sam alone with Janet and Jack, standing back and merely watching, not the bundle of questions or physically tactile proclivities Daniel had been. Even still, without being the interactive distraction Daniel had been, Sam's mere presence seemed to have a moderating effect on Jack's temper... for a while.  
  
"Doc, I'm fine! Really, never felt better."  
  
Janet eyed the colonel closely, "Really, never, even considering the fact you have a Tok'ra symbiote in your head?"  
  
Jack frowned, "Well, of course there's THAT."  
  
Janet picked up Colonel O'Neill's chart, a file she never thought she would hold again. "You may as well quit arguing, Colonel; General Hammond insisted I do a full work-up and I intend to do just that."  
  
"But I don't _need_ one. Aetom's taken care of my injuries, even made it to where my knees aren't bothering me, see?" he flexed both legs a number of times outward from where they hung down over the edge of the bed in demonstration. "Come on, Doc, cut me loose... I didn't come all the way home just to become your next pet project."  
  
"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Colonel. However, you will be pleased to hear that as of.." she made a final mark on the chart and closed the file, "right now I am through with you."  
  
Jack sighed, "Thank you, Doctor."  
  
Janet gave a humorless, tasked maternal smile, "And as soon as you've gotten at least six hours of sleep you are free to go."  
  
"Doc!"  
  
Janet shook her head, "No, Colonel, I insist, your seretonin levels are below normal; how have your sleeping patterns been lately?"  
  
Jack scowled, quiet, then answered a little curtly, "Well you try sleeping soundly with someone rattling around inside your head."  
  
Janet's expression softened just a bit and she lowered the chart to clasp it in front of her, trapped against her body, "If you'd like I could give you a sedative.."  
  
"No, no drugs, besides, Aetom would get rid of them. He knows I don't like sedatives," and with that statement he gave Janet the barest of a stubborn little smirk, as though they were children on a playground and he a spoiled boy with an older brother to come to his rescue, allotting him a measure of irreverence.  
  
Janet sighed, "Colonel, you're not leaving here until you've slept so you can call in all the reinforcements, SGC or Tok'ra, you like, I'm still going to win and you know it."  
  
Jack narrowed his eyes at Janet. If they had in fact been children on a playground Janet had just stuck her tongue out at him because she had the ultimate trump card... her mother was the teacher.  
  
Jack finally gave up. He huffed in unhappy surrender, "All right, fine, sleep."  
  
Janet nodded, "Thank you, Colonel, and welcome back."  
  
Jack grunted, to which Janet only gave an affectionate smile and reached out to touch his arm. Jack brought his eyes up to her and accepted the offer for truce by smiling back without the sting of venom he'd been sporting moments ago. Janet took what she could from a horrible patient, gathered up her instruments and files, then not-so-subtly pulled the curtain to afford the single gurney a measure of privacy. Message received; Janet wanted him to sleep and she'd rather him do it where she was close by.  
  
Jack's eyes were drawn up to Sam, who was still lingering in the periphery, still watching intently. Jack looked at her, brown eyes unwavering. "You've been quiet, Carter."  
  
Sam didn't answer but some of the steeliness to her stance seemed to melt away.  
  
Jack cant his head ever so faintly, studying her, then beckoned softly, "Come here."  
  
Sam paused only a fraction of a second before stepping closer, drawing into the light cast by the single lamp situated beside the gurney upon which Jack was perched. Her eyes were consuming him, not even Jack's realization of her close scrutiny of him was enough to make her look away for even the briefest moment. As she drew closer Jack noticed, with some degree of surprise and stirring curiosity, that he could feel when she came near, sensing a nudging at his brain like a second body touching his in a crowded room.  
  
"You've got that look, Carter... what's on your mind?"  
  
Sam looked down for a split-second before answering carefully, "It's a little strange, sir."  
  
"You're telling me," Jack quipped.  
  
Sam looked back up at him, "I never thought... we thought you were gone, and then for you to show up with a Tok'ra..."  
  
Jack glanced down at his Tok'ra attire. He mentally reminded himself to find a set of fatigues as soon as possible. Not that the Tok'ra clothing was uncomfortable, in fact it was rather cozy when all things were considered, but they weren't what Jack O'Neill was supposed to wear. He looked back up at Sam, who had drifted closer to him without looking like she was aware of her gravitating movement. "Believe me, Major, if you think this is strange you can imagine my reaction."  
  
Sam flinched almost imperceptibly, looking toward Jack from a face turned slightly away, and said softly, "All due respect, sir... you seem to be taking this very well... which I suppose is the strangest part."  
  
Jack went quiet.  
  
In the ensuing silence Sam took it upon herself to quietly take a seat on the gurney beside him, their legs barely touching, as she whispered, "It's good to have you back, Colonel."  
  
Jack looked toward her, meeting sincere blue eyes, and gave her a small smile, communicating a vault-worth of things the two officers knew would never be said aloud.  
  
"I've had time to get used to it, that's all," Jack finally said, "I'm not okay with it, but I've learned to live with it. Helps to know it's not permanent, and Aetom.." Jack trailed and looked into the shadows of the nearly deserted infirmary.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Jack shrugged, picking at the edge of his tan Tok'ra shirt, "Aetom's not so bad. If he was in someone else I might even like him. Maybe." His expression screwed for only a flicker then he stopped his idle cloth-picking, facial features neutral, if not a little tired. Janet had been on the mark; Jack looked like he could use a good night's sleep... after that and a change of clothes he might seem as though he'd never been gone.  
  
Sam smiled.  
  
The two settled into comfortable silence, appreciating the chance to be close, then Sam slid off the bed and turned to face the colonel, "I should go so you can get some sleep."  
  
Jack rolled his eyes, then suddenly perked up as an idea struck him, "Hey, Carter, think you could do a small favor for me?"  
  
"Sure... what?"  
  
Jack's eyes were twinkling, hopeful smile tugging at his lips, "Think you could smuggle a couple of beers down here?"  
  
Sam was about to argue, point out it would be a breach of protocol to bring him alcohol while on base and even more so when he was on Janet's watch, but the next words out her mouth were, "I'll see what I can do, sir." He was home, back from the dead, and surely that should warrant a little contraband beer.


	19. Chapter 19

General Hammond was not in the least surprised that every single member of SG-1 stayed on-base for the night; in fact, he would have been shocked had anyone on the team been able to blast themselves out of the mountain. The group had made a valiant effort at maxing out the temp quarters; no one wanted to leave Jack. The reality of his return was still elusive when the colonel was out of sight for too long, his presence among them once again beginning to seem like a dream that no one dared risk shattering by leaving overnight. A full duty-shift had circulated, the news of Colonel O'Neill's resurrection being handed off with stations, until by midmorning the next day everyone knew. The base was humming with energy, the stir of having a comrade thought fallen in battle return from the dead.

General Hammond had to own up to a small amount of that collective energy; he felt it, too, the incredible ease of weight from his chest because one of his men whose loss he'd let eat at him, a good man who'd died in a bad operation, was in fact alive. It was the same with POWs at last returned to native soil, soldiers listed MIA walking out of the jungle mist weathered and scared but little worse for wear.

A sharp knock on his office door tore General Hammond from his carousel of thoughts as he looked up, "Come in."

The door opened and Major Carter poked her head inside, "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Major, please, sit down." While the major did as asked General Hammond queried conversationally, "How's Colonel O'Neill?"

Sam gave a genuine if fleeting smile, "Well, sir. He was released from the infirmary this morning... in fact, I just came from delivering my 'smuggled goods' to him." Sam gave another smile, this one touched with the tweak of devilish humor Sam Carter could sport when you weren't looking. Hammond had long known there was a very wicked sense of humor under the professional veneer of Major Carter, a side seen far too infrequently but probably correctly for the well-being of her military career. Hammond just hoped when she was higher in rank, privileged a little leeway with her personality, she would loosen the shackles on her wit. Then again, that freedom with position had been a mixed blessing in the case of Colonel O'Neill.

Hammond lingered on the 'smuggled goods' to which Sam was referring and smirked, left shaking his head. Last night Sam had approached him requesting permission to 'sneak' Jack a couple of beers as per his request. Despite the same reservations to the request Sam had originally had the general had proved no better at denying Jack a return-home gift than she.

"The reason I called you in here, Major, is that there are a few operational issues to address in lieu of Colonel O'Neill's return. Namely, the state and future of SG-1.

"Now, Jack hasn't asked me about resuming command of SG-1 yet, but I fully expect him to before the day is out, at the latest tomorrow. Before I spoke with him I wanted to hear your position on the matter."

Sam was just barely frowning, "I'm sorry, sir, I just assumed Colonel O'Neill would retake command."

"I imagine that's the assumption of a lot of people here at the SGC and also very likely if Colonel O'Neill expresses interest in reclaiming his old post; my question to you, Major, is whether or not that is what you want to see happen to SG-1? You are the current commanding officer of the team, and as such your opinion will be taken into consideration when I go to make my decision."

Sam was a little thrown, obviously trying to look more collected than the general's words had left her, "Sir, all due respect, even though I've found command a very engaging and interesting challenge and while I give my highest evaluations of Captain Rawlins for her expertise and conduct as a military officer... Sir," she looked straight at him, "we all want SG-1 back the way it's supposed to be. To be honest, General Hammond, I've considered SG-1 under the command of Colonel O'Neill the moment I saw him in the briefing room yesterday."

Hammond had to fondly smile just a little, "I'm certain the rest of SG-1's original team agree with you; however, Major, have you considered the option of maintaining a command position? I know you've assumed the team would be restructured into its previous form, but I'd like you to take a moment to think about making some of the changes made in Colonel O'Neill's absence long-term. I don't believe the program has tapped your full potential yet, and another venue to that end may well be command. I have every confidence in your ability to lead your people and SG-1 under your command has been a valuable group."

Sam fractionally shrank back in her seat. She squirmed in discomfort like a child after breaking their parent's window with a baseball, "What does Colonel O'Neill say to that?"

"I haven't spoken with him yet about any of this. I want to know your preference before I approach him; I intentionally spoke to you first because I didn't want his opinion to color your personal decision. You are an asset to the SGC, Major Carter, and if you decide you would like to continue a leadership role rather than suffer a demotion in functional positions then I'm willing to work with you to arrange for those conditions."

Major Carter was quiet a time, sullen, then said carefully, "If I wanted to press for a team of my own it probably wouldn't be the team I have now; Daniel, Teal'c, Rawlins."

"Probably not, no, there's even the distinct possibility that none of your former team would be assigned to you."

Sam gave it thought, did as she'd been asked, then looked back up at the general, "General Hammond, sir, I respectfully request immediate reassignment to the position of second in command of SG-1 under Colonel O'Neill."

Hammond didn't bother to ask if she was sure; there was the eagle-eyed severity in her blue gaze that told him all he needed to know. "Very well, Major, if that's what you want."

"Yes, it is; thank you for offering me the opportunity though, sir." As Sam was leaving she paused and turned back to the seated general, "Can I ask you a question, sir?"

"Of course, Major."

"Did you think I'd pick command?"

Hammond smiled, "Honestly, Major, I expected you to do exactly what you did. You know as well as or better than any of us how good SG-1 is... still, you deserved the choice."

Sam nodded, smile fighting to erupt over her face, "Thank you, General," then she ducked out of the office.


	20. Chapter 20

Sam walked into Colonel O'Neill's temporary quarters on base and had to spare a moment to smile. Since leaving the infirmary he'd showered and changed into a set of blue fatigues, missing only his name written on the right breast from looking like the month he'd been listed KIA hadn't happened. The bed was impeccably made, omnipresent whispers of the sharp military mind-set of the man that stood in sharp contrast to the cavalier and laid-back presence Jack exuded from his seat at the small table, titled back on two legs and his feet crossed with heavy boots planted on the table-top. Jack was reading something propped in his lap, hidden from Sam's view by his legs, the two beers she had brought him earlier (to his barely contained glee) sitting side-by-side on the table before him.

Jack didn't look up and yet said, "Hey, Carter."

Smiling, Sam took a further step into the room, "Sorry... the door was open."

Jack finally looked up from whatever he was concentrating on to rest his eyes on her. They stayed on her only a second before his gaze flickered to the open door and view of the hallway beyond, "Yeah... it's just easier than answering the knocks every ten seconds, people dropping in... mostly Daniel," Jack's lips twitched in a smirk, affectionate and appreciative, even while his tone implied wearied exasperation. "Besides, a week hanging out with the Tok'ra... got used to the no-doors thing... well, let me rephrase that, figured out how to put up with it, and for the moment it works better for the walking Jack O'Neill carnie show I've got going out in the hall," and to make his point lifted a hand to give a lazy wave to an airman who moved slowly by while looking inside the room to see for himself if the rumor was true. The airman gave a heart-felt wave back when he saw the colonel's gesture before disappearing from sight again.

Jack cant his head toward Sam, clearly beckoning her further inside, so damn alive and vibrant that Sam wanted to beam like a kid at Christmas. She was only just managing to keep herself from running up and giving him a hug, the proper hug she'd never had a chance to give him because she was taken off-guard by his symbiote in the briefing room. Instead she took unhurried steps closer to the table where he sat, hands clasped easily behind her back.

"How'd you know it was me, sir?" she asked to his correctly identifying her upon her arrival since apparently his first guess should have been Daniel.

Jack's playful expression fell just a little and he grew more serious, a little confused, as he stumbled, "Well, you know, the whole symbiote in the head thing, you're hard for me to miss, hard_er_ for me to miss... I can tell it's you from ten feet away.

"I knew it had to be either you or Teal'c; he was my next guess."

Sam tried not to let her smile slip at the reference to the uninvited guest in Jack's head, the ability it gave him to sense the remnants of Jolinar's legacy in her blood that reciprocally allowed her to feel an alien stirring in her deepest thoughts when she got close to him. "Right... pretty weird, huh?"

Jack quickly picked up on her thread and ran with it, "Oh yeah, so weird. Pull up a seat, Carter." Jack nodded toward the chair opposite the table to him.

Sam did, settling her weight down on the plastic seat and letting her eyes fall to the two bottles on the table. Now that she was closer she could see that one bottle still cast the back of the label wrapped around its girth in the warped dimensions of refraction through liquid.

"Why did you only drink one?" she pointed curiously at the beers. He'd had plenty of time to drink both... Sam knew her commanding officer well enough to gauge about how long it would take him to drink two beers.

Jack looked down at the two bottles, one empty and the other full, and his expression soured faintly, "Oh... well, I had every intention of drinking both, but Aetom doesn't like alcohol. We compromised on one." Jack moved to reach for the full bottle, "Want it?"

Sam waved away his gesture, "I'm on duty, sir."

Jack shrugged then dragged his feet off the table. His boot soles thudded on the ground a split second before the font legs of the chair clattered against the cement. The colonel moved the item he'd been studying on his lap to lay it on the table instead, and Sam's eyes widened when she saw a Goa'uld reading tablet and page-turning device.

"Were you reading that?" she asked incredulously before she could think to censure her words.

Jack looked down at the tablet, "Not so much reading as being read to; found out this morning that on one of their missions SG-4 sacked a Goa'uld who'd been a surviving advisor of Montu's little club and had this on his snakey little person. Aetom thought... he was looking for evidence of anything he might have missed, any mention of the Jaffa tucked away on P78-294."

Sam frowned. Even taking Jack's miraculous return into consideration the SGC had still lost a number of good people on that botched operation. Since that day Sam had developed an even greater remorse for the fallen comrades of P78-294 other than Colonel O'Neill. Sam had listened to Captain Rawlins tell Daniel about the two teammates she'd lost, because people just opened up to Daniel like the young man was the key to every floodgate in the human psyche, and after time it felt like she'd known those people that much better. It made their deaths cut that much deeper.

Interested in changing the subject, Sam said, "I just came back from a meeting with General Hammond."

Jack seemed just as eager to leave behind things that couldn't be changed. His dark eyes tracked up to her as he replied, "Oh?"

"Well... he had a few matters he wanted to address with me about SG-1."

Jack mused, "That's right, you're the head honcho now, aren't you?"

Sam gave a somewhat self-conscious smile. "He thought I might have a few... issues, about relinquishing command. You _were_ planning to resume your old position as SG-1's commanding officer, right?"

Jack smirked, "Well, I didn't come back from the dead for the commissary's food." Sam chuckled. "That was my intention, yes. So, Major, are we going to have to arm-wrestle for the team?"

Sam smiled and merely shook her head, "No, sir, the team is yours. General Hammond asked me what my stance was on possibly being permanently reassigned off of SG-1 into a command post of my own on another team."

Jack's teasing expression dimmed just a little, tension leapt to lines and shadows where they'd not been before, but he held himself carefully neutral as he intoned, "I see... and? What did you tell Hammond?"

Sam saw Jack trying hard not to look affected by the idea of losing Carter from his team. She returned her own controlled facade, giving as good as she got, as she replied evenly, "In five word or less? 'No way in hell, sir'."

Relief eased the disquiet on Jack's face and he looked critically at her, trying to assess the sincerity of her words. Sam had only an earnest expression to offer him as she let a smile play at the corners of her mouth.

Jack let an easy, gentle smile flit over his face, "You know, Carter, you're fit and ready for command. It might be the smart career move for you to take Hammond up on his offer."

Sam shrugged, "There's time for ladder-climbing later, sir, right now I'm having too much fun with the team I'm on," and for the barest moments her eyes were dancing as she looked back at him. For an ever barer moment, he met her gaze full-on, eyes locked.

Jack sighed barely and glanced fractionally away from staring at her, "Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you're staying. I'd hate to lose you."

"I know the feeling, sir... and on that topic, the minute you and I are both off-duty you can expect some disrespectful comments about letting us believe for a month you were dead."

Jack laughed, "Well, you're one up on Daniel; he didn't bother waiting for off-duty."

"Waiting for off-duty what?" the archaeologist in question asked as he breezed into Jack's room like he owned the place, cutting a bee-line through the quarters to the table where his friends were sitting. "Hi, Sam," he greeted as he pulled a third chair up to the table, taking up a position beside Sam, directly across from Jack.

"Hey, Daniel," Sam's somewhat belated return.

"So, what were you saying about me?"

Jack exchanged knowing looks with Sam, "That you already chewed me out for 'giving you all a scare' as you so delicately put it."

Daniel retorted quickly, "That's a lie, I didn't put it delicately at all."

Sam damn near giggled, "I kind of figured the colonel was giving you more credit than you deserved. And for the record I'm with you, I was just giving the colonel fair warning he could expect the same from me when it won't be considered gross insubordination."

Jack grumbled good-naturedly, "I come back just to get griped out? And here I'd been telling Aetom how great my old team was."

"What's it like being blended with him?" Daniel chimed in at once, like a bright-eyed, curious child.

Jack skirted the subject with his usual finesse, "Well, there's a lot more thinking going on up here now, so maybe it's like being one of you."

Sam, undeterred by the colonel's self-deprecating humor, offered up a little hesitantly, "When Jolinar was in me... I know it was different in a lot of ways, but there was this... I don't know, raw emotional bond for the time she was in my body. I could see her life, her thoughts, her feelings, she let me see everything that made her who she was and I couldn't stop her from seeing all of me, even when I was terrified and wanted to protect myself from her... it was like I wasn't alone, even when it was just me."

Jack seemed a little uneasy with the topic, "I guess it's like that. We were both pretty... uh... guarded in the beginning, but eventually we just gave up and... well, the thing Carter said."

"Can we talk to him?" Daniel asked.

Jack flickered a slightly disapproving look at Daniel, "I thought you were glad I'm home, not my hitchhiker."

"Of course it's great to have you back, Jack, but come on... a Tok'ra symbiote that you're not plotting to strangle the minute he's out of you? This Aetom sounds fascinating."

Jack's jaw clenched only a moment as he looked down at his empty beer, then he sagged in relent, "Fine, why not," and took a steadying breath, closing his eyes. When he looked up it was no longer Jack O'Neill. Alien eyes in a friend's clothing looked toward Daniel and the Tok'ra smiled kindly, "Daniel Jackson, it is good to talk to you again; I admit an eagerness of my own to speak to you."

"Really?" Daniel was alive with scientific wonder, cultural excitement.

Aetom nodded, "Colonel O'Neill has shown me things about you that I have marveled at, displays of Tau'ri virtue the Tok'ra rarely get to see, and the same goes for you, Major Carter. He regards each of you very highly... despite his contrary behavior on occasion."

"So how's Jack treating you, as a host?"

Aetom took on a very peculiar expression somewhere between amused, wearied, and affectionate, "I have had many new hosts who, upon first blending, instinctively rejected my presence, unfamiliar bodies that railed at my intrusion at first. However, I have never before had a host that tried to throw me up."

Daniel and Sam both smiled at that, despite the oddness of talking to a stranger in their friend's skin. "I can imagine the colonel's reaction was rather... volatile."

Aetom agreed, "I have come to know him and consequently for his reaction to initially discovering my presence I cannot lay blame. His is a very strong, willful mind and his value of privacy unprecedented to the mind of a Tok'ra."

Daniel subdued somewhat, dark remark defensive and protective of Jack, "Well, even among humans Jack's not the world's biggest fan of sharing when it comes to feelings."

Aetom met Daniel's quieter tone with one of his own, eyes casting down sadly, "Since the true blending of our minds, memories and emotions, I have seen many things within Colonel O'Neill that disturbed even me. There are dark places in a life never meant for others to see; Jack knows this, and he has shown me that it is true."

Sam and Daniel froze uncomfortably at the remark, locked in a second of silence before Sam jumped in, "I know the colonel had to have his qualms, but having him back alive is... we can't tell you how much all of us at the SGC appreciate that, Aetom. Thank you."

"Knowing him as I do now, I could not bare to think of him dead. I too rejoice that he lives."

"So are you two... friends?" Daniel asked, seeming unsure how to grapple the sentence.

Aetom smirked, "No... not friends; we are comrades. Yourself and Major Carter hold exalted places in the mind of this Tau'ri, for those he chooses to name as 'friend' are very few."

"It's something you have to earn," Sam said pointedly, not even trying to hide the small glimmer of pride in her voice.

Aetom nodded, "Yes... and I will not be with him long enough to gain that title. It is regrettable but a sacrifice I embrace because ours is a separation Colonel O'Neill wishes ardently." Aetom became momentarily introverted, lost in internal conversation, then he gave a congenial look to both Daniel and Sam, "I must take my leave of you; Colonel O'Neill already grows restless for control." With that Aetom's chin dropped toward his chest and his eyes drifted shut, only to snap back open under the command of the body's original owner.

Jack was less than happy for the personal remarks the Tok'ra had said to his friends while the symbiote was in control, but not furious as one might have expected. "Loud-mouth Tok'ra," he merely muttered, disgruntled at best, as he slid the Goa'uld tablet away from him atop the table then looked up at his companions, "What say we get out of here and hit the mess?"

Sam was back in step with him at once, not even missing a beat, "I thought you didn't come back for the food?" she taunted.

Jack groaned, "I didn't, believe me, but after a week on the Tok'ra idea of food even the commissary sounds good."

Without a word of protest, and without another comment made about Aetom or the things he'd said, the two teammates joined their wayward leader and left the temporary quarters, trolling the halls until they found Teal'c and traipsing to the mess hall together, the four of them, just like old times.


	21. Chapter 21

–I'm going to miss them,– Aetom's voice echoed somewhat sadly in Jack's mind. The colonel stopped mid-action at the unexpected remark from the Tok'ra symbiote, his hand frozen over a carton of Chinese take-out propped on his lap. Sam, sitting on the couch beside him, noticed the abrupt stop in his movements and glanced over at him questioningly. Jack couldn't pull away from himself to respond but before it was necessary Sam looked away. Almost a week back among his own people and everyone was getting used to allowing for the second consciousness in Jack's mind. Sam adjusted to recognizing when Jack was having a Tok'ra moment faster than the others.

'Miss whom?' Jack queried as outwardly he looked down at Daniel, folded like a small boy before the low coffee table and biting into an egg roll with gusto while nodding at something Teal'c had said between morsels of kung pao chicken. It was painfully familiar except for the fifth addition, Captain Megan Rawlins, propped on the chair behind Teal'c's left shoulder as she used a fork of her own to snatch bites here and there of the Jaffa's dinner, to the latter's allowance. They were at Sam's house for dinner, a team outing, Rawlins there because Sam still felt responsible for her despite the young woman's recent reassignment to another field team. Jack was proud of Sam for her conscientiousness to the people under her, attributes of a person bound to become a good leader. He didn't mind the young captain's company; she was a pleasant enough person, and Jack figured if he was going to be dragging a near-stranger into the group Sam had just as much right to, as well.

–Your friends,– Aetom answered, and Jack felt the remorse of being severed from the people sitting around him. It was too close to Jack, too easy for him to internalize as his own sadness, and he forcefully moved it away, replacing the grief with images of Homer Simpson with a strangle-hold around Bart's throat.

Aetom smiled, allowed the diversion from sadness.

'You hardly know them,' Jack countered as he resumed eating, only partially aware of the conversation going on outside his head between his friends.

–It feels that I've known them as long as you have, and as well as you do. I will miss them when I have been moved into a new host, that is all.–

'Considering we haven't heard a word from the Tok'ra since we got here, you might not have to miss them at all, not for a long time.' Jack was only a little bitter at the thought, a little angry at the delay.

–Do you want me gone now?–

Jack frowned 'To get stuffed in a fish tank? No... you can stay, for a while, as long as you don't piss me off.'

Aetom shared in the joke rather than feel like the butt of it, the co-conspirator rather than the target, responding to Jack's personality seamlessly with a budding acceptance Jack was finding almost too complete for comfort.

'I think we're getting too used to each other,' he commented, a little worry slipping into his thoughts' tone.

Aetom acknowledged his fears, validated them, unconcerned himself, and responded only with, –Perhaps we are.–

Jack felt things gradually go quiet in his mind and turned his attention back to the gathering of friends around him. Coming home hadn't been as effortless as he'd hoped. He found out that the SGC had cleaned out his house, thankfully only moving his furniture into storage and confiscating a few of his personal items rather than toss anything in the trash. His house was still in his name, held in suspension by the military for a waiting period after his being declared killed in action, and for the last couple of days SG-1 had been moving Jack back into his own house. In the meantime he'd been crashing at Daniel's apartment, fair return on the numerous times Jack had harbored a homeless Doctor Jackson. It was better than staying in temp quarters on base the whole time.

Despite the easy and familiar company Daniel was under most circumstances, Jack was looking forward to being back in his own home, alone. Well... mostly alone.

Jack's attention perked when he could just barely hear the shrill chirping of his cell phone, stuffed into the pocket of his jacket which was thrown on the bed in Sam's spare bedroom along with everyone else's coats.

Jack set his carton on the coffee table and stood to retrieve it.

"Sir?" Sam asked.

Jack gestured abstractly toward the innards of the house, "My cell phone's ringing."

Daniel's brow furrowed and he stopped to listen, "I don't hear anything."

"Ah, but you don't have Superman hearing; be right back."

Jack reached his shrieking pocket on the fourth ring. He quickly withdrew the phone and answered into the small device, "O'Neill."

"Colonel, this is General Hammond."

"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

Hammond paused a moment and at once Jack was all business, mind alert.

"I think you should come in, we have... guests on base I think you will be most interested in speaking with."

Jack had three guesses whom that could be. 'The Tok'ra,' he thought, 'about damn time.' "I'm on my way, sir." He hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket, then strode swiftly back into the living room. When he all but burst into the room he immediately had everyone's attention.

"That was Hammond, I think the Tok'ra just showed up."

"They've found a new host?" Sam asked.

Jack shrugged, "General wouldn't say on an unsecured line, technically didn't say it was even the Tok'ra, but that's a fair guess it's them and they're here about Aetom."

Chinese was abandoned and jackets and car keys scrambled together. Though Hammond had only implicated Jack to return to base, within minutes they were all on the road back to Cheyenne Mountain.

* * *

"Jacob," the name was said with a note of surprise, "good to see you," Jack greeted when he walked first into the briefing room to find Jacob Carter sitting next to General Hammond. To Jacob's left sat Janet Fraiser, a peculiar addition to the congregated committee. The rest of SG-1 was trailing behind Jack like ducklings, filing into the room like an oil spill while Jack moved toward the head of the table where the two generals sat.

"Hello, Jack, how have you been?" the Tok'ra asked.

Jack sat down across from Jacob, "Well, depends on what you're here to tell me."

Jacob smirked, "We have a possible host for Aetom."

Jack grinned merrily, "Then I'm peachy."

"Before we made any arrangements to take you back to the Tok'ra base for the transfer I wanted to make sure you were both fully informed of the conditions. The prospective host is a woman, young... younger than the Tok'ra prefer for hosts to be, but her circumstances are unusual."

Sam, who had taken her customary seat beside Jack, asked, "Terminal illness patient?"

Jacob shook his head at his daughter, "No... one of our operatives, a Tok'ra by the name of Moshen, was hiding out in her village when the Goa'uld discovered his position and launched an attack. A number of locals were killed and wounded in the strike, and Moshen's host offered to lead the attacking forces away from the village and... essentially, sacrifice himself for the mission. Moshen was transferred into a villager who'd been severely wounded in the attack, a young man who has been told of the stakes of the Tok'ra resistance and has chosen to remain with us and fight against the Goa'uld that attacked and killed many of his people."

Daniel looked among his comrades, "I don't understand... where does a new host for Aetom come in?"

Jacob looked a little reluctant as he answered, "Moshen's new host had a mate, the young woman that has volunteered to become a host to Aetom."

Sam was watching her father closely, "I thought the Tok'ra were always eager for people to volunteer to become hosts... why don't you look happy about this?"

Jacob shook his head, "She's so young... sixteen."

Jack blinked, "Wow... sixteen years old? Does she even understand what she's getting herself into?"

Jacob nodded, "The Tok'ra have explained the commitment of becoming a host to her, and her mate has even told her of the hardships she can expect to endure as a Tok'ra. She still wants to do it. If she's adamant about taking on a symbiote then the Tok'ra are pleased to have her, but I thought I should present this to Jack and Aetom first. The Tok'ra were all ready to offer Aetom to this girl, but I told them to hold off... that Jack might have reservations about indirectly being the one to make someone barely more than a child a Tok'ra."

Jack's expression was intense, disturbed, as he mulled over the situation. Jacob was right to think Jack would balk at the idea of passing off his symbiote to a child just to be rid of it himself.

Daniel, the delicate diplomat he was, asked, "Why exactly is she so set on becoming a host?"

Jacob looked so paternal, so gentle, as he said, "To be with her husband. She's accepted that he wants to fight the enemy that killed so many of their own people and even supports his decision but she doesn't want to lose him for that cause. She's willing to become a Tok'ra herself to stay with him."

"At sixteen?" Jack asked.

Jacob nodded, "Her native culture marries very young, this young man is in fact her husband of two years."

Daniel chimed in, "Well, that's actually fairly common in a number of primitive societies, girls as young as twelve being married off to men twice their age..." he noticed rather disinterested looks all around the table and folded his hands quietly, "which is neither here nor there."

Jacob looked directly at the colonel, "It's up to you and Aetom, Jack. If neither of you are all right with this then the Tok'ra will wait for another symbiote to become available."

"So you're going to make her a Tok'ra anyway?" Jack accused.

Jacob's tone was sympathetic, even empathetic toward Jack's objections. "The Tok'ra can't afford to turn away a willing host, and she's been informed of the risks involved. Ultimately, it's not the Tok'ra's place to turn her away if this is what she wants. It works for both sides."

Jack was silent a long time, warring with himself, then he looked toward General Hammond, "I'd like to meet her and speak with her myself before I make a decision, sir."

Hammond nodded, "I understand."

Janet at last jumped into the conversation, explaining her attendance to the meeting in her ensuing words, "Colonel O'Neill, I know it might seem strange, but I want to make you aware of the physiological and psychological repercussions of losing your symbiote."

Jack looked at her, "You mean peace and quiet?"

Janet gave a tight smile at his remark then glanced toward Sam once. "Because of the length of time which you've been host to Aetom there are probably a number of physical changes that you've gotten used to. The heightened senses, your increased physical energy and strength, the small, long-term medical concerns that Aetom corrected like the trouble you had with your knees. Also, if you'll recall, immediately after Major Carter lost her symbiote when Jolinar died she had to go on massive doses of SSRIs.."

Jack barked, flabbergasted, "Are you saying I'm going to be depressed when Aetom's gone? That won't happen, Doc, trust me."

Janet was patient, "It's a matter of neurotransmitters, Colonel. The little data we've been able to obtain points to the symbiote altering body chemicals, seretonin being one of them, a deficit of which is a prime contributor to depression. Now, while the symbiote is present they produce a chemical that simultaneously blocks the production of seretonin in the host body while duplicating its effects on the body so the host doesn't feel the change, but..."

Jack cut her off, "Doctor, please. I appreciate your concern, and I'll take what you've said under advisement, but really it's academic since keeping this Tok'ra indefinitely isn't an option."

Janet stopped and nodded, "Yes, sir."

Hammond looked between Jacob, Janet, and Jack, as he asked, "Is there anything else?"

Sam spoke up, "General, request permission for the rest of SG-1 to accompany Colonel O'Neill."

Hammond looked to Jack, who gave a small assenting nod.

"Very well, Major. If there's nothing more, you're all dismissed. You may depart whenever you're ready."


	22. Chapter 22

Jack was pacing the familiar Tok'ra halls like it was a hospital waiting room, the blue crystal walls and ceiling sparking memories stored in his mind, some his own and some that weren't. His team was nearby, Sam, Daniel, Teal'c, and Janet (who had insisted she be there if, in fact, a transfer did occur). They were hanging back, giving him time to talk to the voice in his head, keenly aware that had they tried to grab his attention it would have been an utterly futile attempt.

'She's just a girl,' Jack fumed to himself, arms crossed as he paced slowly, looking much calmer outward than he really was.

Aetom was there, co-council to his dilemma, –It is quite young.–

'I don't care what any of the Tok'ra say, she can't know this is what she wants. She's just a kid, for crying out loud.'

–Is it ours to decide if she is prepared for the burden that comes with being a Tok'ra?–

'You're encouraging this, aren't you? It's your ticket out so you're all for it.' Jack felt a towering disapproval rise up in him from his symbiote, making him feel all of two inches tall.

–I would not take an unwilling or an unfit host, Colonel O'Neill. I would turn down blending with this woman if I felt it was the right course of action, whether that meant longer with you or even months in a stasis chamber.–

Jack's steps slowed fractionally, the colonel duly chastised, 'Sorry, Aetom, that wasn't fair to you. I know that, I just... I don't know if I can do this to her. Can you?'

Aetom was silent a moment before responding, –I shall make my decision when we have met her. She is young, yes, but becoming a host at her age is not unheard of.–

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack turned at Garshaw's voice. He met the elder Tok'ra woman's gaze only for a fleeting moment before his eyes fell to the young woman at Garshaw's side. She was slight, built like an elfin sprite, curly brown hair partially pulled into a braid, emerald green eyes so bright and innocent. Her clothing was not Tok'ra, most likely the style of her native planet, simple blue and gray robes that made the girl look like a Greek deity in a school play.

"This is Sanee, the one who wishes to become host to Aetom."

Sanee took a step forward, looking up in open hope at Jack, "You are the one who will give me this symbiote?"

Jack swallowed, feeling sick that she was a foot shorter than he, so damn child-like he wanted to hit Garshaw and every Tok'ra he ran across on the way out for even considering letting this girl give up her life to the Tok'ra. He looked to the Tok'ra elder and cleared his throat, "May we speak alone, please?"

Garshaw nodded and turned, effectively leaving them alone.

Jack looked down at Sanee. 'She's a baby.'

–She is small, O'Neill, but let us not judge until we have learned her mind. Great strength can lie in deceptive shapes.–

Jack frowned, trying to disregard the presence in his mind as he said, "My name's Jack."

The girl gave a strange bow, "Sanee Bel'Manear."

'I can't do this,' Jack's thoughts rang.

–Speak with her, for yourself and for me... I must know her, perhaps more than you ever need to.–

Jack kept his voice gentle, "So, Sanee... hear you want to become a Tok'ra."

Sanee smiled, "Very much so."

"Why?"

Sanee's smile took on a more mature tilt as she answered, "My mate has been given the gift of a symbiote and taken on the Tok'ra cause, devoted himself to striking back at the devil who killed our brothers and burned our homes. I wish to join him."

Jack found himself kneeling down before her, the way he would to a child on a playground, "Sanee... this is a very big commitment you're asking to take on, you understand that, right? Being a Tok'ra is a dangerous life, and you have so much of your life to live. You're going to give up a lot of that if you do this."

Sanee looked down at him, "I know this, Jack. The Tok'ra have explained it to me, and I am ready for the responsibility."

Jack frowned at her, unable to accept she could have any true concept of what she asked in becoming a Tok'ra. Her eyes were largely untouched by pain, unknown to grief... both of those would change the moment she took on a symbiote.

"What made you decide you wanted to be a Tok'ra? You said your husband took a symbiote... did he ask you to do this?"

"No... in fact, my mate asked me not to."

Jack watched her, urging her to go on with a nod.

Sanee's smile, her youthful innocence, fled faintly as she said, "When he had been taken by the symbiote he was not exactly the Isho of my memories, but still he was there, the mate I have loved since we were children. He told me there was danger, that the Tok'ra inside him showed him the risks in the Tok'ra way of life... at first I thought he no longer wanted me. It was very hard to hear, and I told him if I no longer appealed to him then I would return home in shame as is the way of our people, but he told me his love had not changed, had never changed, and it was because he loves me so that he feared for me choosing this life."

Jack nodded, "Maybe your mate was right."

Sanee shook her head, "I do not desire a life that is without him. He has been mine and I his since we were this tall," she gestured to her own waist. She looked closely at him then, brow furrowing. "Jack, would you be the one to say I am not within my rights to have this?"

Jack flinched backward, "Sanee... I just don't want you to make a mistake you'll regret for a very, very long time."

Sanee smiled again, "If there is ever to be regret it is mine to bear, and a life at my mate's side is not a life that I will ever regret." She sounded determined, completely convinced of every word she said.

"Do you understand what the Tok'ra are doing in fighting the Goa'uld?"

Sanee looked stormy for a second, "They seek to destroy the devils of the sky. I would like this very much as well. My people have been at the mercy of the devils for a long time... for too long."

'What do you think?' Jack questioned Aetom while he looked up at the girl.

Aetom was considering the girl just as closely, –I think she may be suitable as a host. She seems to understand what will be asked of her... she is not so much a child in mind.–

'I wish I could see what you do.'

Aetom's presence became reassuring, like a gentle arm around his shoulders. –There is always doubt before one becomes a host. She will learn, and I will take care of her until she is grown.–

Jack slowly stood again, his hands going into his pockets to still any anxious fidgeting. Sanee looked up at him, for a breath's moment not looking nearly as young as she had at first.

Jack was slowly relenting, giving in to someone who wanted to become so badly what he wanted to cease being with equal fervor. He and this girl could help each other.

'She's female,' Jack noted, a little wryly, 'you always take male hosts.'

Aetom's response was light, though still laden with sincerity, as he answered, –Perhaps change is a good thing. You said yourself a female body is better.–

Jack gave a mental laugh in return but trailed off when he sensed a strange emotion creeping up on him, rising from the depths of his chest, a feeling he couldn't identify.

"Are you absolutely certain about this, Sanee?" Jack asked one more time.

Sanee nodded, unwavering, then she brightened to ask, "I have heard that Tok'ra can be together for a thousand years... is that true?"

Jack heard the hope, the love of that idea this young girl had, and knew she was speaking of her mate. This girl was enraptured with the notion she could be with the man she loved for a thousand years, lifetimes of love and marriage beyond normal lives.

Jack smirked, heart-strings tugging because there'd been times he'd loved like that, too. "Well, I've only had the job about six weeks, but..." a mental imagine of Jolinar and Lantash flashed into his mind, "I knew two Tok'ra that were together for more than a hundred years."

Sanee smiled again, sweetly, wisely, and at that instant she looked older. A shift in her posture pressed her light robes against her body, revealing a womanly figure with curves and breasts where before he had imagined a girlish frame. The longer he looked the more of a woman he allowed himself to see, and it made it a little easier.

'She's in love,' Jack noted, 'will that be awkward for you?'

Aetom was indulgently kind to his current host, calming, as he answered, –In time it will be our love; it is the way of the Tok'ra symbiote, and half of the joy in sharing mind and body with another.–

Jack sighed, still holding on to a last thread of reluctance, 'Do you want to do this?'

–I would like to try.–

Jack mustered a small smile for Sanee, "Well, Sanee, looks like you're going to be a Tok'ra."

Sanee's whole being seemed to light up at his words, her happiness almost a glow emanating from her. "Thank you, Jack." 


	23. Chapter 23

Jack could not deny it... he was nervous. He wasn't entirely sure why, but his heart was racing and his palms felt clammy. After he'd informed Garshaw that he and Aetom both agreed to the transfer things had moved quickly. Jack and his team were led into a room with two ingrown crystalline chairs facing one another in the center and they were left there to wait, at which point Jack was finally able to tell his companions that Aetom was going to be moving into a new host.

While they waited, not five minutes after their being ushered into the small room, a young man in Tok'ra clothes entered. He introduced himself to the group, but mostly to Jack. He was Isho, Sanee's husband. Jack had expected someone middle-aged, someone from a backward culture that permitted the marriage of children to old men. Instead it was a young man barely older than Sanee, and the girl's love for her husband was not as questionable as it had been before. It helped that Isho was so happy he would have Sanee by his side, his companion for the long lifespan a Tok'ra could attain. It took on a Romeo and Juliet quality to see two so young proclaiming to be so deeply in love. He hoped it was real, because they were going to be stuck with each other for a long time if Sanee did this.

They did not have much longer to wait before Sanee was brought in by Garshaw, dressed now in Tok'ra clothes. Jack sighed to see that the tighter garments showed hips and a bust, a womanly outline that added much-needed years to her face. She went at once to Isho, who took the young woman in his arms and kissed her chastely on the forehead while their hands clung to one another.

"Colonel O'Neill," Garshaw motioned toward Jack. Swallowing, Jack stepped forward. "If you would take a seat here; Sanee, sit opposite him."

Both did as they were asked, sat down on the perches facing one another. If Sanee was nervous she hid it well, giving him only a confident smile when he met her eyes.

Garshaw stood to their sides and proceeded to speak calmly, "When Aetom has transferred hosts you will both experience a time of disorientation. This is normal and do not let it alarm you. Are you ready, Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack nodded.

"Sanee?" Garshaw questioned the woman.

Sanee nodded then cast a quick look and smile at Isho.

Garshaw nodded, "Then you may make the exchange. Colonel, if you would, kiss Sanee whenever you're ready."

Jack swallowed with some effort, a sudden tight fist seemingly closing around his chest. He could feel Aetom moving within him, preparing to jump from body to body. Jack could not stop the almost frantic, unplanned call in his mind that screamed, 'Aetom?!'

Aetom stopped his departure preparations to effuse Jack with his presence, to 'hug' him as he had once before, and his voice brushed through every corner of Jack's mind like a soothing tide, –It has been an honor to have been blended with you, Colonel O'Neill. You are an exceptional Tau'ri.–

'It's been... well, not so bad. You're unforgettable, Aetom.'

–Thank you, Jack, and goodbye.– The pointed silence that followed was Jack's not-so-subtle cue.

Jack shifted forward on the seat uncomfortably, halted at Sanee's young face a moment, then hesitantly reached up to cup his hands around her jaw. He glanced fleetingly at Isho, who was standing so close by, and offered a lop-sided smirk, "Sorry about this," then leaned in to the girl, opening his mouth to capture hers.

Sanee leaned in as well, meeting his lips with parted readiness.

Jack felt a sudden, ripping loss strafing through his mind, chaos and violent uprooting erupting in every safe corner of his thoughts. There was a wake of emptiness, utter silence, and a sharp uncoiling deep in his neck, an unleashing of his spinal cord. Silence screamed as Aetom pulled away from him, abandoned him, and then a sharp pain at the back of his throat. The sensation of a body, a creature, on the back of his tongue. The reflex to gag kicked in just as a flitting, darting slither rushed past his lips and then he was choking on empty air. Emptiness was engulfing him, unnatural silence a plague to his mind, his body, and his hands fell weakly away from Sanee just as she jerked back at the painful sensation of Aetom burrowing into her soft palate.

Jack was spinning in the cavernous, hollow space, screaming for help that did not come.

They were his last conscious thoughts as his body sagged. Hands, Daniel's and Teal'c's, came to support him as he slipped into the consuming blackness.

* * *

He was lost. It was a forest at night, a concrete cell in the dark, and it made no difference how long he walked or in what direction. It was endlessly empty, a place he once knew and now could not recognize, an amnesiac to himself. He groped for a companion, called out for guidance within himself, but there was only an echoing hollowness. He was a stranger in his own mind, looking for a light to lead him, tether him.

"Colonel?" a soft voice reaching toward him from the blackness, pulling at him gently and yet with hands utterly numb, fingers that should have felt more real upon his psyche.

"Colonel, can you hear me?"

Jack had to get out of the darkness, the black hole in the midst of his thoughts that was burning through him, and he struggled toward the voice for all he was worth.

A fluttering image of Carter standing over him, watching him with a gentle expression she spared him only when she thought no one would dare question her concern. She was touching him, this time with real hands that still felt too fake.

"I think he's waking up," Sam said, looking away momentarily only to turn her eyes back down to him moments later.

A second head joined the first, blocking the background of Tok'ra crystal blue with its interposing shape, as Janet peered closely at him. Her hands were suddenly on him, too, not as gentle as Sam's, but they were an anchor to the outside world and he needed them all desperately.

"Colonel. Don't try to move yet."

'Move?! Are you serious? I haven't even decided on breathing yet,' he thought and waited for a reaction... and waited... and waited. There was only the hollow pit where someone used to be, a consciousness he could no longer turn to, a voice silenced. Slowly, bit by sluggish bit, Jack could feel the rest of his body. He was lying on his back, on a hard surface... probably those horrible slabs the Tok'ra called beds. His muscles felt frail and useless to support him, everything in the world reached him as though muted. His ears felt clogged, sounds muffled, colors less vibrant and edges not as sharp. The intricate smells of the Tok'ra that use to annoy him were vanquished, as if he had a cold that blunted his sense of smell and taste with cruel efficiency.

"The transference was a success, sir," Janet reported, and Jack blinked, struggling to remember.

Janet continued, "Aetom and his new host are recovering well, in fact, better than you are, but then they have an advantage over you now," Janet smiled.

Jack pulled the memory from his mangled brain. Aetom. Tok'ra symbiote. Transfer. Aetom had been implanted in a new host. It was rushing back to him in mutilated shapes, bent and twisted as they rattled around out of control.

Jack could taste the coppery hint of blood on his tongue.

"Sir?" Sam leaned closer, worry written on her face, "can you hear us?"

Jack tried to answer but all he could feel in his mouth was blood and the tactile memory of slithering.

Sam looked up at Janet, "Is he supposed to be this out of it?"

Janet shook her head, "I don't know, I haven't been witness to too many Tok'ra symbiote transfers. I think maybe we should.."

"..o..kay.." Jack croaked.

"Sir?" both women looked down at him.

"I'm... okay," he repeated weakly, eyes rolling around the room but he only saw blue crystal. "How long?"

Janet was touching him again, medical touch professional but comforting, "About two hours, sir. Sanee came to about forty minutes ago."

'Aetom?' Nothing.

"Colonel?" Janet sought his wandering attention.

Jack nodded feebly, "Help me up."

Sam and Janet looked at one another dubiously, "I think you should rest a while longer, sir," Sam said carefully.

'Probably right,' Jack thought, 'but if I don't move now I'll go nuts.'

"Help me, Carter," he said again, more bitingly than he meant to.

Sam spared only a short glance at Janet before doing as she was ordered. Clasping Jack around the shoulders she pulled at his unwieldy body, levering him awkwardly up into a sitting position. She stayed close, half of his unsteady weight propped against her, and for her consideration Jack gave a grateful nod. He looked around the room, recognizing one of the personal quarters of the Tok'ra.

Janet's voice was somewhere behind his shoulder, "Your body's undergone quite a physical shock, Colonel, it will probably take a while for you to get your feet under you again."

"Aetom?"

Janet and Sam looked at each other. Jack wasn't even aware he'd said the name aloud.

"He's doing fine, sir, settling into his new host. Would you like us to go get him?"

Jack wanted to not care, wanted to give no answer, but somehow that translated into him nodding his head.

Janet touched his back once, offering, "I'll go," then her figure disappeared into the hall.

Sam took the chance to move closer, press more completely against him, and whisper, "Are you all right, sir?"

Jack didn't honestly know. He knew something was wrong, hollow and empty and wrong, but he couldn't describe that unclear sentiment.

Sam touched the back of his neck suddenly with one hand, jolting him more wholly into reality. "I know," she offered gently, and Jack closed his eyes and let his head droop because Sam did know. He was grateful they'd left him with the one person he trusted that knew exactly what it was like to lose an uninvited guest to one's own mind.

"It gets better," she promised, and Jack clung to that. "It's weird for a while, but you remember how to be alone again."

Jack's eyes rose to the open doorway of the private quarters when he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. Janet entered first, checking on him a moment with her evaluative glance before looking to the people following in her wake. Jack did not take his eyes off Sanee as she moved, albeit a little shakily, into the room, Isho at her side, hands never far from reaching out to steady her if she needed the support. To Jack it didn't look like that would be necessary. There was nothing childish or naive about the bearing of Sanee now, her mannerisms aged, her deliberateness wise. The maturity it gave the girl's body and face was astounding, and reassuring. It was as though the old adage had been turned on its head, and with experience came age. Sanee's green eyes went at once to Jack, met his gaze, and she smiled softly.

Jack knew it wasn't Sanee, because though he'd never seen it he recognized Aetom's smile.

The young woman's voice was modulated, altered to the Tok'ra rumble, when she took measured steps closer, "Colonel O'Neill... I am pleased to see you have regained consciousness." The girl came to stand directly in front of him, Jack's eyes tracking and following the new host. Something inside him was twisted, crying that Aetom was too far away, impossibly cut off from him by the sparse foot of space separating them, an ocean of mere inches away.

Sam backed off fractionally.

Aetom, now nestled in a female form, looked closely at Jack, as though intrigued to see him from an outsider's perspective, to watch the man's body move and shift without it being a reflection.

"Doctor Fraiser told me you were a little confused when you woke up; it's to be expected, I'm afraid. The longer a host and symbiote have been bonded the more jarring the separation is. I too was weakened by the disconnection. We will both recover, in time."

Jack was thinking, grasping, wondering why Aetom wasn't answering to his unspoken questions like he always did.

Aetom gave a sagacious, private smile, seeming to know Jack's mind even after leaving it, "You will have to speak your thoughts to me now, Colonel."

The notion was so terribly, horribly strange.

"Aetom?"

"Yes?"

"You... all right?" he finally asked in broken syllables.

Aetom nodded, "Yes, Jack, I am. As will you be. My eternal gratitude to you once again for all you have done for me. However brief, you were a commendable host..." Aetom smiled, "though not a candidate I would ever suggest again to the Tok'ra council."

Jack managed a smile, and with that shared joke some of his sapped strength came back to him. He had presence of mind enough to straighten from the almost sickly, hunched position he'd adopted when Sam hauled him prematurely upright. "See that you don't."

Aetom chuckled then looked toward Isho. The young man was watching hopefully, hovering near to the body of his mate with tender concern.

"I must go," Aetom said more softly to Jack.

Jack didn't say the thought that ran through his mind, holding it back on the tip of his tongue and merely nodding.

"If you require assistance to the stargate I will help you." After a month with Aetom Jack had stopped feeling discomfort to have the Tok'ra's helping presence so close, ready to step in and heal, soothe, reassure. With Aetom it had stopped feeling like he was being weak to accept aid, and there was something natural in the idea of accepting his help now.

Jack glanced over at Sam standing only a pace away from him, attention riveted on him even when she was looking at Aetom or Isho, and he sensed Janet moving closer to where he sat in the ensuing silence like a protective fog rolling in. He knew Daniel and Teal'c weren't far, could be at his side in a moment's notice if need be.

Jack gave Aetom a parting smile, "That's okay... my friends will take care of everything."

Aetom gave a heavy, understanding nod. He locked eyes with Jack once more before saying, "I hope to see you again, Colonel O'Neill. You once said if I were in another host we might be friends... I would like to see if that is truly possible."

"Yeah... guess we'll see."

Without another word Aetom nodded farewell to everyone in the room, cast Jack a final smile, then left at Isho's side.

"Colonel..." Janet moved closer, her hand on his arm as though to ground him before she spoke, "the Tok'ra have invited us to stay for the night if you'd like some time to recover before we.."

"No," he said softly, shaking his head and looking toward Janet. "Let's get out of here."

Janet didn't argue that he wasn't strong enough, didn't point out the Tok'ra would be best suited to address any unforeseeable complications that might arise after the symbiote's departure, merely nodded, "All right, sir."

Jack registered events like peering through a murky pond at a broken shard of mirror half-buried in the sandy bottom. He had flashes of Daniel at his side, sliding under Jack's arm and taking most of the colonel's weight with a gentle smile. Teal'c was not far, ready to jump in if Jack fell or Daniel called for help, but otherwise preserved Jack's pride. Daniel would have come to Jack's aide whether he wanted it or not, and for that reason there was no shame in relenting to an unremitting force like Daniel's compassion... acquiescence was the only course of action, making Jack's true need for help in merely walking almost seem like more of a concession to Daniel's desire to help than Jack's need for it. Janet led the way, a spearhead that no one would dare cross to disturb her patient. Sam was floating in and out, alternately close and a distance away, bound to Jack by friendship but also by duty, made to take command of the team while Jack was unquestionably unfit. Still, his second in command would occasionally sidle close, reach out a hand for fleeting physical contact, a constantly reemerging comfort the entire trip to the stargate.

Before Jack realized they'd traveled so far they were home, clamping on to the metal ramp of the embarkation room, meeting the welcoming face of General Hammond.

"Welcome back, SG-1. Colonel, you look..." he faltered before he could lie.

Jack managed a smile, feeling stronger, maybe even enough to pass for fine, but he was still grateful for Daniel's tenacious vigil next to him, the young man's arm around his body holding the world steady. "Like shit, sir?"

Hammond smirked, "I wasn't going to be rude."

Janet jumped in, "It will probably take a couple of days for Colonel O'Neill to be back to normal. Until then I'd like him to stay on the base."

Hammond nodded agreement and for once Jack didn't offer up a single word of protest.

"General.." Daniel's voice, plaintive, "can I take him to his temporary quarters?"

Janet opened her mouth to insist Jack stay in the infirmary but before she made a sound stopped herself, torn, at last giving an assenting if somewhat reluctant nod to the general. She knew Jack's preference was always temp quarters over the infirmary and since what he needed was time and rest, not strict medical care, she relented to Jack recuperating in a private room.

"Very well, son."

"Come on, Jack.." Daniel tugged at him and Jack followed on reflex, still half-slung over the younger man's shoulders. He was increasingly carrying his own weight, slowly reclaiming uncontested ownership of his own body, but hadn't built up enough confidence to pull away from the friend at his side until they'd already reached the temp quarters.


	24. Chapter 24

Janet Fraiser sat in her office adjacent to the SGC infirmary, catching up on paperwork in the lull that had descended over her domain within the base. There were no bumps or bruises to tend to so she and her team were taking the time to catch up on tasks so often neglected during emergencies. In the infirmary, house-keeping duties so often fell to the wayside because they didn't bleed and die if left unattended. The beds were empty, sheets crisp and clean in waiting for their next occupants, the lights and monitors all dark and quiet. Two nurses were talking softly in the infirmary; Janet could hear them through her open office door. They were tending to some blood and tissue cultures gathered from the last planet's local population SG-8 ran into who had been incredibly resilient to viruses.

It had been three hours since Daniel Jackson had taken Jack O'Neill to temp quarters to rest and recover from losing his symbiote. Janet felt the need to check on him plague her like a rash but with great restraint she left him alone. He needed sleep, time for his body to reestablish a natural balance without the presence of a Tok'ra, and her checking on him wouldn't speed either of those processes. After the first two hours she was finally able to concentrate on the papers laid before her, putting Colonel O'Neill into a back corner of her mind.

Janet sensed rather than saw someone enter the infirmary, someone who stopped just within the threshold. Janet looked up from her files, and her eyes darted to the entrance and ulitmately fell upon none other than Jack O'Neill. Her medical instincts jumped into hyperdrive immediately.

Jack looked lost. He was looking around the large room slowly, expression painfully vacant, eyes dull and listless. The two nurses stopped talking only a moment to see if he needed them but resumed their conversation in softer tones when he called for neither of them.

Frowning, Janet set down her pen and moved toward the stationary colonel.

"Colonel?" she said when she was only a foot away.

Jack didn't react to her (though she knew he was aware of her presence), fatigued glaze in his eyes heavily in place but not entirely masking his situational awareness. He knew, he just didn't care.

Janet sighed sadly and stepped closer, "Sir... let me give you something; it'll make you feel better."

Jack's utterly flat voice retorted, "I'm fine, Doctor."

Janet frowned at him in disbelief as she noted the withdrawn, lusterless quality to his expression, his thin lips and grim lines. He'd been so adamant he wouldn't do this, that what happened with Sam wouldn't happen with him... it would be one of a number of times that, medically, Jack O'Neill had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's all right, sir," Janet cajoled as she reached for him.

He stiffened fractionally, only for a second, then sagged, uncaring, as her fingers made contact with his skin. She stepped closer, "Please, Colonel, let me.."

"No... I'm fine, just... can't sleep." He looked down at her, as expectant as he felt fit to muster, and Janet winced inwardly. She didn't know what he expected of her.

Janet did know from experience it was a very bad idea to try to force drugs on Colonel O'Neill when he didn't want them. Dangerous enough when he was incapacitated and in little position to resist but down-right suicidal when he was physically uninjured and capable of retaliation... especially when he wasn't entirely himself. Janet was not about to underestimate the colonel, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he might resort to being an aggressive, violent depressive if he wasn't simply left alone. Tending to the health of sometimes uncooperative trained killers was a hazard all military medical personnel had to face, Janet Fraiser included.

Which left Janet back at square one of not knowing what she could do to help him.

"If you'd like you can sleep here," she offered, knowing he would turn her down, leave the room (because Jack was never in the infirmary if he didn't have to be), but not sure what else she could say.

Jack stunned her by blankly nodding, and, without a sound and without a glimmer of life casting on his expression, moving to one of the many waiting gurneys. Janet followed him, feeling useless, as she watched the colonel crawl on to the bed, fatigues, boots, and all, and curl on to his side, eyes locking into a visionless stare, body held insanely still with arms crossed over his chest, legs bent and slightly tucked toward his chest.

Janet stole a sheet from a neighboring bed and laid it over the colonel. Once the sheet was spread over Jack's huddled form, Janet turned to the hushed murmur of conversation flying between the nurses.

"Would you two mind taking this somewhere else? Colonel O'Neill needs to..."

"Let them stay," he said softly, drawing Janet's gaze. The colonel was unblinking but took a moment to turn his eyes up toward her, reinforcing his faintly-uttered statement.

Janet conceded softly, "Okay." She nodded for the nurses to continue what they were doing then turned back to touch Jack's shoulder, "Call if you need anything, Colonel."

Janet went back to her office and resumed her paperwork, periodically looking through the window into the infirmary at Jack. For a long time he didn't move, barely appeared to breathe, curled like stone or death under the white sheet while the nurses discussed their experiment findings only a few feet away. It was an hour before Jack's eyes slid closed and his body's unwell rigor relaxed a little, at long delay surrendering to sleep with the nurses chatting softly in the room.

* * *

Jack O'Neill was a walking emptiness for two days. He could be found slowly traversing the halls of the SGC, no destination in mind, because he was restricted to the grounds no place to go. He would return to the infirmary to sleep and to lay as though in a waking coma, staring a the ceiling or walls. He never cried the way Sam had when Jolinar died. Despite all of Janet's gentle urging, Jack never consented to drugs to ease his symptoms the way Sam had. If he came into the infirmary to find it empty, utterly void of human life, he'd go somewhere else. Jack became a familiar, somber haunt in the commissary and rec room, lingering on the edges, present but never included in the activities around him. When he wasn't sitting in a corner by himself someone from SG-1 was with him. Frequently it was Daniel Jackson talking to Jack, keeping up a low-pitched commentary even when Jack didn't seem to hear anything the young man said. Daniel didn't let the lack of response deter or dishearten him, always eager to find Jack and stay with him, talk to him the way he would have kept Jack company if he'd been laid out on a hospital bed. When Daniel wasn't around it was Samantha Carter, not as vocal but just as strong a presence. She would sit across from him, working on things she could have easily done in her lab but brought to the crowded common areas so she could be with her commanding officer and friend. If she couldn't sit across from him, directly in his line of sight, she would sit next to him and permit some small amount of constant physical contact. He'd end up staring at her, lackluster gaze drawn to the nearest distraction, and she'd let him watch her like a doped up psych ward patient for hours if it was what he seemed to want to do. And when it was neither Daniel nor Sam Teal'c was around, placing drinks and food in front of Jack and the sheer commanding presence of the Jaffa leading Jack to accept whatever the large man offered him.

On the third day the first signs of improvement, the first hints that the crushing depression that the stubborn colonel would never admit to experiencing was lifting and Jack O'Neill was fighting his way back to his old life. He would remark on the things Daniel prattled on about, give Sam a self-conscious smile when he realized she'd caught him staring, give Teal'c a sour remark for salads and yogurt put in front of him. His presence in the gathering rooms of the SGC became less decorative and more interactive. If he overheard a joke he'd smirk, sometimes chuckle, engage people around him with a nod or unenthusiastic 'hello'.

People on the base began to relax around him, bringing him back into their fold. Jack was going to be all right.


	25. Chapter 25

Sam was bent over the table in her lab, peering closely at the alien power generator as though it were an opponent in a chess match. She circled it, speculative, sizing up the enemy as she struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar science.

A gentle knock on her door broke her concentration and before she could call out to her visitor Jack cracked opened the door and moved wordlessly into her lab.

"Hello, Colonel," Sam said, offering him a smile as he walked up to the table, hands in his pockets and eyes looking with utter disinterest at the unearthly hunk of alien gadgetry.

"Hey, Carter... whatcha doing?"

Sam sighed, "Well, trying to figure out this power generator from SG-15's last mission. They claim the indigenous people were using it to replace fossil fuel power sources but I just don't..." she stopped, realizing she had to be boring the colonel out of his mind. "Sorry, sir. So, how are you feeling?"

Jack shrugged and stepped around the table. One hand left the sanctuary of his pocket to skirt the edge of Sam's lab table, fingers tapping against the flat surface. Sam held her breath, waiting for something within grabbing distance to catch his attention as she tried to make a quick assessment of what loose item on her desk she could most afford for the colonel to fiddle with, a kind of 'Jack O'Neill gizmo triage'.

Instead of idly playing with one of her tools his hand sank back into his pocket and he turned to face her, "How does it work?"

"Sorry?"

Jack nodded toward the device taking up the lion's share of the table, "How does it work?"

Sam blinked, taken off-guard. "It's really uninteresting science-geek stuff, sir, you'd be bored to tears."

Jack sighed, looked downright pained for a second, then he whispered, "It doesn't matter, Carter, just tell me. Just... talk."

Sam looked closely at him, searching.

Jack looked back at her, emotions in his eyes raw. "It's too quiet," he said with heavy meaning.

Sam understood at once and didn't make him ask for her to fill the gaping silence in his thoughts again.

"Okay... well, my suspicion is that this is some kind of nuclear fusion or fission technology, utilizing atomic processes to derive its source of energy. On the surface it looks like something that might have been produced here on Earth, granted in an advanced research laboratory, but these were common appliances in every residential home on the planet where SG-15 found it, so despite the impression that these people might be on par with us technologically the wide-spread use of power sources such as this tell us they're a lot farther along than we thought, and maybe that's what they wanted us to think.."

Jack was edging closer, hanging to her voice.

Sam stopped when she felt him right at her side, close enough to feel his body heat. She looked up at him and saw the first dancing of humor and energy in his brown eyes that made Colonel O'Neill the incredible person he was, but still it was shrouded by a sadness he vehemently denied. Except to Sam. He didn't deny the sense of loss to Sam, but that was because she didn't ask. She didn't need to; she knew exactly what it felt like to be constantly with someone inside your mind then suddenly alone.

He looked over at her when she stopped talking, met her understanding gaze. He offered a thin, weary smile, voice so low it was hard for even Sam standing less than a foot away to hear, "Does it ever go away?"

"Not entirely, no. It's kind of like the stargate I guess, once you know what's out there you can't go back to being ignorant of the things you've seen and done and learned, but it does get easier." Sam frowned, "I can't imagine what you must be going through, sir. Jolinar was only a part of me for a few hours; you had Aetom for over a month. I didn't even really know Jolinar, only the impressions I picked up when she was blended with me."

Jack sighed, both thankful she'd told him the truth but regretful that what she'd said wasn't more comforting. And in typical Jack O'Neill style, he didn't even address the indirect mention of his personal feelings on the matter. He ventured out a hand to curl the corner of a piece of paper sitting on her desk as he said, "Fraiser's letting me go home today..." he left his sentence hanging, obviously troubled but not about to say why.

Sam guessed it anyway, which was probably the reason he was in her lab in the first place, "You're worried about being alone."

Jack flinched and jerked his hand away from the paper, looking almost angry at himself a moment. "This is god-damn ridiculous," he ground out.

Sam shook her head, "No, it's not, sir, at least it isn't to me. Do you want me... do you want one of us to stay with you for a few days?"

Jack shook his head, "No. I need to get over this, deal with it."

Sam had to let him have his pride, his dogged personal determination to best the thing plaguing him.

Sam offered, "For the first few nights I slept with the television on... it helped a little. I didn't need it for very long. After a few days I got used to it being just me in my head again. Took a little longer to like it that way, but you do get back there eventually. If someone wanted to do that to me again now I wouldn't agree to it without a very good reason. I don't want to stop being completely me for anyone, even if the memory of being blended with Jolinar wasn't bad."

Jack nodded, "I... needed to hear that."

Sam gave him an empathetic smile. Taking a chance Sam reached out and touched his arm, drawing his immediate attention for the nearly illicit contact. Sam gave him a grim look, "Colonel... I know you need to do this yourself, and I respect that but... look, the first night home can be hard. The first time you're REALLY alone and you realize just how quiet the world is can be... at least I found it very... disconcerting. Please promise that if you need to hear someone you'll call me? I don't care what time it is."

"Carter..."

"I didn't say 'talk', I know you won't even if I tried to force it out of you... I mean if you need to hear someone's voice. I can read to you if that's what it takes, but let me do that."

Jack smirked, "Bedtime stories, Major?"

Sam returned his teasing expression, "Whatever it takes, Colonel."

Jack smiled then sobered. He looked briefly away. "If it gets bad... I'll call."

Sam sighed and nodded, "Thank you."

Jack's soft expression in reply was all the return thanks she needed to receive.

Silence settled between them, what might have been considered comfortable not so long ago but which Sam knew right now was the enemy.

"Did I tell you about my first mission commanding SG-1?"

Jack's eyes sparkled because she knew, she understood all the things he couldn't bring himself to say, and was more thankful right then for Carter than he could ever tell her. "No," he said and proceeded to pull up a stool as Sam smiled and started to recount the tale of SG-1's adventures in his absence. The content, for once, was not as important as the telling.

* * *

That night, at two in the morning, Sam's home telephone rang.


	26. Chapter 26

Three months later Jack was strolling toward the commissary for breakfast. He'd just arrived on base no more than ten minutes ago, invigorated by the short exposure to the outdoor weather. It was a crisp Colorado winter morning, the sun still not yet peeking over the horizon, leaving only the fading stars to glint blue-white light off the inch of snow covering the ground. Frost drew intricate crystal patterns onto car and house windows, breaths delegated to a white fog escaping wind-kissed lips.

Jack was in good spirits, looking forward to meeting up with his team, exchanging banter and jokes and nestling into the pseudo-family feel that tied SG-1 together. Life was back to normal, even inside his own head. Carter was right... it got easier, each day the silence a little less crippling, until an errant thought here and there would jump to mind that he wanted to keep to himself, didn't want to share, and with a smile realized he didn't have to worry... any thoughts he had were all his own.

There were times he missed Aetom, especially last month when he came down with the flu that the SGC personnel had been passing around, but it became a fading absence. The Tok'ra started to feel less like part of Jack that had been cut way and instead like a colleague reassigned overseas.

Jack reached the commissary and walked inside to find Sam already there, sitting at the team's usual table with a bowl of cereal before her. She wasn't half-engrossed in something else, which was a little unusual for the multi-tasking major.

"Morning, Carter," Jack greeted as he reached her position.

When she looked up at him he froze, knowing at once something was wrong.

"General Hammond wanted to see you as soon as you got in, sir," Sam said evenly, trying to sound neutral.

"What about?"

Sam shook her head, "I... think you should hear it from him."

Jack's mind started to reel, at once taking note of the fact Daniel and Teal'c weren't there. Daniel was never in earlier than eight (unless he'd burned the midnight oil and stayed the entire night, displaying the pesky habit he had of forgetting about important things like food and sleep when a pretty rock came to his attention) and Teal'c usually skipped breakfast so there was nothing abnormal about their absence, but Sam's tense expression spun the worst scenarios into his mind. Fear was already beginning to lick at his consciousness to think either of them were hurt... or worse.

Jack sat down resolutely across from Sam. He looked directly at her and made his request an order, "Tell me what's wrong."

Sam swallowed but finally said, "We heard from the Tok'ra last night, a message... sir, Aetom's dead."

Jack wasn't prepared for the feeling of being socked in the gut, winded as he stared at her, dread rising in his veins. "Come again?"

Sam obviously didn't want to be the one to tell Jack but the colonel wasn't about to budge until he'd heard the whole story, "He was on a mission when his tel'tac hyperdrive malfunctioned and dropped him into normal space within Goa'uld controlled territory. He tried to repair the damage in time to escape but... but he was discovered before he could and his tel'tac was shot. He died, sir."

Jack was speechless, motionless, part of him unable to accept Aetom might be dead while a very pragmatic, realistic side of him was already grieving the loss, leaps ahead in the belief and acceptance department.

"How's Isho doing?" Jack barely asked.

Sam seemed surprised that, of all the reactions, that one was Jack's first to the news.

"He's... upset. He's actually the one who contacted us about the incident. He said Aetom and Sanee talked about you sometimes, with apparent fondness, and he thought you would want to know... 'deserved to be told', is what he said exactly."

Jack nodded absently, slowly, as he looked at the half-eaten bowl of corn flakes before Sam and realized he was anything but hungry, despite vague memories of a ravenous appetite as little as half an hour ago.

"Colonel..?"

"I'm fine, Carter."

Sam looked a little askance at him, as though doubting he was telling the truth.

Jack stood from the table and pushed the chair in that he'd just been using, "I'll let Hammond know you already broke the news. See you later."

Sam watched him walk out of the commissary, for a moment debating whether or not she should go after him but in the end settling back to her bland breakfast, waiting for Daniel to show up so she could tell him if only for the purpose of alerting him to some possible emotional reactivity from the colonel for a couple of days. Although, from the way Jack had reacted to finding out, he might not need the kind of sympathy and commiseration Sam first believed.


	27. Chapter 27

Sam only saw moments of Jack all day, passing him in the hall or catching sight of him turning a corner just as he came into sight. She got the distinct impression he was avoiding her without looking like that was his intention. What little she saw of him was what she had come to expect of Jack O'Neill when a friend of his had died. Stony acceptance, even focused distraction from the issue with work. Above all, however, he seemed to be doing okay... better than Sam had anticipated.

Because of the emotionally charged time she'd shared with Jolinar, Sam expected Jack's veneer to crack at hearing Aetom had died. Jolinar died and Sam was devastated, even having known her only a few hours. Considering how much longer Jack and Aetom had been bonded, how much closer they'd become, Sam thought the Tok'ra's death would be incredibly difficult for Jack to handle. For neither the first time, nor likely the last, Jack O'Neill surprised Sam Carter.

When Sam went off-duty at the end of the day she prowled the base looking for Jack. She checked his office, Daniel's office, and the commissary. When she found him in none of those places she headed up to the surface and scanned the parking lot for his truck on the way to her car. When her search failed to turn up the dark green Ford she knew he'd already gone home.

Sam found herself pulling into the driveway at his house twenty minutes later, drawing up alongside the pick-up she'd sought earlier in the SGC parking lot.

Sam got out of her car. She pocketed her keys and looked toward the colonel's house. A single light burned in the living room, casting just enough of a warm glow in contrast to the cold late evening air to make it inviting. Flakes of snow were beginning to fall, melting in a moistening film over every exposed surface, including Sam's cheeks and hair.

Sam took one step toward the front door then stopped, changed direction on intuition, and made her way to the side of the house. She knew where to find the wooden ladder scaling the wall of the home and started to climb.

When she'd climbed the last few rungs of the ladder she caught sight of the colonel. He was sitting in the lawn chair he had perched on his roof beside the telescope, though the astronomy tool was covered and unattended this night. Jack was sitting quietly, as though he hadn't hear her coming into the driveway, walking around the side of the house, or climbing the creaking ladder. All of which Sam knew was impossible, meaning he was deliberately ignoring her.

Sam clamored on to the rooftop and stood, waiting for him to make the next move. She'd hunted him down, come to him at home, and it was his place to tell her to come closer or go away.

"Hey, Carter," he said without turning, and for the moment Sam knew she was free to move nearer to him.

Sam stepped toward him, "Hey... I was looking for you on the base." She came up alongside Jack and saw him sitting with a beer held between his legs, propped on the edge of the chair.

"I came home," he said needlessly as he brought the bottle to his lips to take a swallow.

Sam looked up at the sky, fading from purple and navy blue to black, between patches of clouds speckled with the first, brightest stars.

"Go ahead and say it, Carter, I know it's why you're here."

Sam turned to him, not put off by the slight brusqueness to his voice, and instead asked, "How are you holding up, sir?"

Jack shrugged, "Fine."

Sam frowned, "Jack... a very close friend of yours died."

Jack glowered, eyes narrowing, "Aetom and I weren't friends. We always made that point clear."

"Still, he was close to you... closer than anyone has probably ever been.."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Carter."

Sam wouldn't let him stop her saying what was on her mind, "I _know_, sir. You can tell everyone else Aetom was nothing to you but I'm not going to believe it, because after a matter of hours Jolinar, in some way, felt like a soul mate to me. It was like losing part of myself when she died, and I know she wasn't unique among the Tok'ra."

Jack was quietly seething, pinning her with a sharp glare, then he simmered down as though doused in cold water and looked away. When he spoke his voice was almost gentle, not laced with the spurious anger for which Sam had been bracing. "You know what I've been thinking all day?"

Sam shook her head, waiting for him to go on.

Jack cant his head in curiosity, "All day this image has been popping into my mind. A little girl, the daughter of Aetom's previous host. I don't know why she just showed up but I can't stop seeing her." He fingered the paper label on the beer in his hands, pensive.

Sam sighed quietly, her breath a wispy cloud in front of her face. She waited for more about the girl, the scene that had been dogging him throughout the day, but in his stretching reticence eventually realized nothing more on the subject would be forthcoming.

Jack's lips pursed, "It's like more than one person dying when a Tok'ra dies, isn't it?"

Sam thought on that, guessing he wasn't simply referring to the host that physically died with the symbiote at the time. "I guess so. With the memories of all their previous hosts they carry, I suppose when the symbiote dies a little bit of all their hosts die, too."

Jack said very carefully, "A little of me."

Sam swallowed, resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, instead said, "Maybe. Maybe I died a little with Jolinar, too."

Jack took another drink of beer then cast his eyes once toward the sky before dropping his gaze on to her. She was standing with her arms crossed against the increasingly chilly air, facing him patiently. She looked for the anguish she remembered from losing Jolinar, the harrowing sadness, but she didn't see any of those things when she looked at her commanding officer. She saw regret, remorse, a little mourning, but it wasn't consuming, and for all the world he really did seem okay.

"Are you really all right, sir?" she asked.

Jack didn't answer at first, merely watched her, then surprised her with the open honesty of his answer, "I hurt, Carter, and I miss him... but I've lost things a hell of a lot more important to me than a snake."

Sam blinked, at first insulted for the sake of Jolinar and Selmac and Lantash, all the Tok'ra she knew and cared about who deserved kinder regards than to be spoken of so harshly. Then she stopped to consider Jack and knew he was right. For him it was true, and she had no right to question that. If anything, perhaps she need question herself for not agreeing at once, with everything she had, with what he said.

Jack was looking at her, and he seemed to know when Sam understood. He offered her a small smile, wiping away any last vestiges of anger she'd felt for his comment, then stood from his chair. "It's getting cold up here... let's go inside."

Sam's response was automatic, "I should head home, sir."

Jack paused, standing close to her, then continued more solemnly, "I was going to have a drink in memory of Aetom... and then set one aside in memory of Aetom," he smiled, and Sam laughed.

"Come on," he beckoned, "someone should drink the one I don't."

Sam nodded and followed him toward the ladder. The drink he put aside to honor Aetom, the one she drank, she'd drink to the memory of Jolinar.

END


End file.
